THE 

*TH  U  RWESTBROOK 
— » COMPANY  «^ 

-EVELAND  •  •  •  •  U.S.A. 


MAID,  WIFE  OR  WIDOW* 


BY 

MRS.  ALEXANDER 

• 


THE  ARTHUR  WESTBROOK  COMPANY 
CLEVELAND.  OHIO,  U.  S.  &. 


(Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America,. 


MAID,  WIFE.  OR  WIDOW? 


By  MRS.  ALEXANDER. 


PART  /,   *; 

CHAPTER  I. 

A  WIDE  river,  rolling  swift  and  smooth  through  a  fine 
landscape;  on  the  right,  undulating,  richly-wooded  heights, 
the  advanced  guard  of  a  mountain  range  in  the  back 
ground  ;  on  the  left,  green,  softly -rounded  uplands,  which 
in  England  would  be  called  "  downs,"  furrowed  at  inter 
vals  by  shallow  ravines,  and  sprinkled  with  dwellings — 
some  of  the  better  sort — each  with  its  surrounding  of  trees 
and  cultivation. 

Away  up  the  river,  where  it  emerged  from  the  hills, 
stood  a  lofty  mass  of  rock,  crowned  by  a  gray  Schloss,  and 
at  its  foot  clustered  the  houses  of  a  small  town,  the  capital 
of  the  district.  By  the  riverside,  at  the  embouchure  of  one 
of  the  ravines  just  mentioned,  the  mixed  timber  and  brick 
built  cottages  of  a  village  were  gathered;  and  beyond,  tha 
dry  stony  road  led  on  uphill  to  a  residence  of  some  preten 
sion,  plentifully  shaded  by  beech  and  sweet  linden  trees, 
opening  on  a  well-tended  garden,  arid  surrounded  by  tha 
fields,  yards,  and  belongings  of  a  u  Gut"  or  farm.  All 
slept  tranquilly  in  the  golden  haze  of  early  autumn's  noon 
tide  heat.  The  bees  hummed  as  contentedly,  the  myriads 
of  the  insect- world  flitted  and  danced  as  merrily  as  if  nd 
such  curse  as  war  darkened  the  earth.  River,  trees,  hills, 
flowers— all  fair  to  see. 

"  All,  all,  save  the  spirit  of  man,  was  divine.*' 

In  the  little  village  of  Bergfelde,  however,  that  spirit 
was  much  perturbed.  It  would  be  more  accurate  to  say 
the  spirit  of  woman  was  eorely  vexed;  for,  save  young 
boys  and  aged  carles,  scarce  any  men  were  left  "in  tha 
Saxon  villages  during  that  unhappy  summer  of  1866,  when 


2  1IAID,     WIFE,    OH    WIDOW? 

the  little  kingdom  kept  faith  with  Austria  so  truly,  fought 
go  gallantly,  and  bled  so  freely  in  the  fatal  light  of  Koni^- 
pratz.  The  poor,  hard-working  creatures,  too  disturbed 
to  .follow  their  usual  vocations,  clustered  round  the  White 
Pigeon  Gasthof  and  the  trough  from  which  the  horses 
drank,  talking  together,  vaguely  wondering  when  the 
march  of  the  victorious  Prussians  would  cease:  already 
two  divisions -had  tasted  the  enforced  hospitality  of 'the 
village,  and  a  fourth  infliction  was  expected.  True,  the 
Herr"  Gerichtsamtenann,  the  great  man  of  the  neighbor 
hood,  who  always  entered  into  their  joys  and  troubles, 
assured  them  that  a  certain  indemnification  would  be 
given  in  repayment;  but  that  "certain"'  seemed  to  the 
Bergfelderins  very  uncertain  and  distant,  whereas  the 
aCtiKil  Prussia-it.  g-cbbling  up,  was  terribly  real  and  present. 

Above,  Hi'fch*!  Geriditsamtmann's  pleasant  home,  under 
tliesliaiiy  }irKle.ns,.ca.re  and  sorrow  was  also  predominant. 
•Jn ..the^CGkrt,  .parque'd  salon,  with  its  highly-polished,  Jn- 
laill,  brass^ai idled  commodes,  Schranks,  and  writing- 
tables;  its  straight-backed  chairs,  and  comfortable  Lehn- 
etuhle;  its  wicker  stands  of  flowers,  and  principal  table, 
with  a  red  cover,  and  the  invariable  snowy,  satiny,  damask 
cloth  or  large  napkin  laid  diamond-wise  over  the  center; 
and  standing  before  the  sofa,  on  which  is  the  seat  of  honor, 
an  elderly  lady  in  black,  a  white  lace  handkerchief  tied 
loosely  over  her  soft  gray  hair,  was  walking  slowly  to  and 
fro  before  the  open  windows  and  glass  door  which  led  on 
to  the  veranda  and  garden.  Her  face  was  careworn,  and  a 
world  of  anxious  thought  biy  in  the  dark  eyes,  still  so  soft 
and  bright.  She  paused  by  the  door  for  a  moment,  as  the 
sound  of  young  voices  came  from  the  garden  beneath,  but 
her  busy  fingers  took  no  rest  from  their  habitual,  perhaps 
soothing,  occupation;  and,  with  eyes  and  thoughts  far 
away,  Frau  Ghering's  deft  fingers  knitted  on.  A  knock  at 
the  door  of  the  salon  failed  to  rouse  her ;  a  second,  more 
sharply  administered,  drew  her  attention,  and  before  sh'o' 
had  well  uttered  "  Herein  "  an  old  man,  who  might  be  gar 
dener,  butler,  coachman,  or  a  little  of  all,  came,  and  stood 
twisting  his  cap  about,  while  he  said,  with  so  me  embarrass 
ment,  "A  Prussian  Hussar  wants  to  speak  with  our  mas 
ter." 

"Helms  ridden  to  the  town,  Hans.  You  must  speak 
with  the  soldier  yourself,"  said  the  lady,  with  a  sigh.  u  Do 
not  forget  to  tell  him  that  we  can  take  but  few  horses., •  as 
the  last  party  billeted  here  left  so  many  behind  to  repoyqr. 
They  are  still  here,  are  they  not,  Hans'?" 

"Yes,  Frau  Amtmann,"  ho  replied,  "some  of  them  are 
etill  good  for  little  or  nothing.  It  has  been  a,  bud  business 
fc]  together." 


MAID,    WIFE,    OR    WIDOWf  3 

With  a  respectful  bow  he  withdrew. 

4* 'Hans, "called  his  mistress ;  he  returned,  and  stood  in 
tbf! doorway.  "Be  civil  to  these  people,  Hans.  The  war 
is  over ;  the  sooner  the  breach  is  healed  the  better ;  besides" 
—another  sigh—"  we  gain  nothing  by  irritating  them." 

Hans  bowed,  and  again  withdrew,  muttering  an  indig 
nant  '"  Potztausend  1" 

Fran  Gehring  stepped  into  the  veranda,  and,  after  a 
glance  at  the  fair  scene  which  spread  beneath  her,  called 
softly,  "Lisabet;  are  you  there,  Lies?" 

"Here,  mother,"  replied  a  young  lady,  who  came  for 
ward  from  between  the  branches  of  a  weeping  willow,  a 
slight  but  rounded  figure  in  white  muslin,  with  a  black 
•waistbnnd  and  ribbons ;  a  quantity  of  light,  golden  hair 
was  gathered  into  loose  coils  under  her  garden-hat,  also 
trircraed  with  black,  but  adorned  with  a  rosette  of  green 
and  white,  the  Saxon  colors.  She  held  a  tolerably  large 
basket  in  her  hand,  which  she  held  up  as  she  approached 
the  steps  of  the  veranda.  "See,  dea^  mother!  I  hava 
picked  five  schock  pease,  so  we  have  enough  for  a  regi 
ment." 

She  smiled  as  she  spoke,  a  bright  but  very  fleeting  smile, 
cone  almost  before  you  caught  the  brightness;  and  her 
face  reassumed  its  habitual  expression,  thoughtful,  earnest, 
pensive,  almost  sad,  with  a  yearning  depth  in  the  clear 
blue  eyes. 

"A "regiment!"  repeated  Frau  Gehring.  "Part  of  one 
will  no  doubt  help  to  devour  them.  Hans  has  just  told  me 
a  hussar  has  been  here  to  speak  to  your  father— the  avaafc 
courier,  I  suppose,  of  the  expected  party." 

4 'What  more!"  cried  Lies,  her  countenance  clouding 
over.  "When  will  the  end  come  ?  when  shall  we  be  re 
lieved  from  these  inflictions  ?  It  is  too  hard  to  be  obliged 
to  lavish  on  our  enemies  care  and  comfort  our  own  dear 
I  ones  are  forbidden  to  share." 

44  It  must  be  nearly  over  now,  Lies.  But  tell  me,  child, 
•  is  all  prepared  ?— the  sleeping-rooms,  the " 

uYes,  mother,  all.  So  soon  as  the  last  left  yesterday, 
j  Suschien  and  I  made  all  ready  for  the  new-comers,  whom 
my  father  thought  might  arrive.  You  may  trust  me." 

"  I  do — I  always  do,  Liebling,  You  are  the  best  of  littla 
H«aus-Fraus." 

The  young  lady  kissed  her  hand  to  the  mother.  u  I  will 
*ake  these  pease  to  the  kitchen,"  she  said,  -<4  and  look  once 
more  to  our  good  Marie's  preparations.  We  must  be  well 
provided  for  such  visitors." 

She  walked  away  with  a  quiet  dignity  of  movement 
Which  hardly  suited  her  youthful  face  and  figure. 

An  hour  later,  and  the  quiet  little  village  was  all  alivo 


4  MAID,    WIFE,    OR    WIDOW? 

•with  soldiers  and  horses,  the  rattle  of  sabers  and  jingle  of 
accouterments.  Before  every  door  groups  of  weary,  dusty 
men  and  horses  were  gathered,  seeking  quarters,  and  pre 
senting  billets.  A  party  of  ten  or  fifteen,  followed  by  two 
officers,  slowly  rode  up  the  hill  to  Villa  Bellevue.  The 
officers,  distinguished-looking  men  in  spite  of  their  travel- 
stained  aspect,  laughed  and  talked  cheerily,  enlivened  by 
the  prospect  of  rest  and  refreshment,  as  they  admired  the 
view,  and  augured  well  for  their  entertainment  from  the 
air  of  comfort  and  cultivation  which  they  observed.  A 
few  yards  from  the  gate  of  the  villa  the  clatter  of  horses' 
hoofs,  drew  their  attention,  and  Herr  Fahnrich  v.  Planitz, 
the  younger,  and  consequently  the  most  curious,  turning  in 
his  saddle,  exclaimed,  "It  is  the  Kittmeister— it  is  "Von 
Steinhausen."  Whereupon  they  drew  rein  till  joined  by 
another  officer,  evidently  of  the  same  regiment,  a  tall, 
broad-shouldered  man,  splendidly  mounted,  although  his 
charger  showed  signs  of  hard  work. 

"  So  you're  here,  Von  Steinhausen." 

"  Cleared  off  your  invalids  ?"  were  the  remarks  addressed 
to  him. 

''Yes,  it's  myself!  though  I  dare  say  I  look  ghostly 
enough.  I  have  seen  the  wounded  safely  housed,  sent  oft 
a  report,  and  been  in  the  saddle  since  daybreak.  Come 
along,  comrades!  if  this  villa  is  our  destination,  it  looks 
deliciously  cool  and  shady.  Gott!  what  visions  of  iced 
Rhenish  and  seltzer  seize  my  brain  at  the  sight  of  it  I  Come 
on.1' 

So,  in  a  deep  rich  voice,  with  a  ring  of  command  in  its 
tones,  spoke  Von  Steinhausen,  and  pressed  his  weary  horse 
up  the  hill,  and  in  a  few  minutes  more  the  three  officers 
dismounted  at  the  entrance  to  the  villa,  where  Hans, 
whose  whole  aspect  was  a  silent,  stolid  protest  against  the 
presence  of  the  foe,  stood  waiting,  by  his  mistress's  orders, 
to  direct  the  military  guests  to  their  respective  quarters. 

"  Ach,  Himmel,"  said  Von  Steinhausen,  as  he  swung 
down  from  his  saddle.  "  I  feel  as  if  I  could  sleep  all  round 
the  clock.  I'll  just  take  a  mouthful,  and  then  to  bed.  You 
must  present  yourself  to  the  '  Gnadige  Frau '  (if  there  is 
one)  without  me.  Make  my  excuses;  say  I  prefer  sleep  to 
dinner;  but  at  the  '  Abend  Brod '  I  hope  to  make  my  bow. 
Adieu!  Come,  old  sulky,  show  me  to  my  room,"  and  fol 
lowing  Hans  he  disappeared  into  the  interior,  his  comrades 
calling  after  him,  "  Schlafen  Sie  wohl." 

The  room  into  which  the  reluctant  Hans  ushered  Herr 
Rittmeister  von  Steinhausen  was  well  calculated  to  invite 
repose.  Its  windows  looked  upon  the  Hof  or  courtyard,  at 
the  other  side  of  which  were  trie  stables  and  farm-offices. 
They  were  sheltered  by  the  villa  itself  from  the 


MAID,     TV7t>&;     OR    WIDOWf  5 

sun,  ntsd  farther  shaded  by  a  large  walnut-tree,  under 
which  a  spring  bubbled  up,  and  filled  a  large  rough  stone 
basin ;  its  overflow,  escaping  in  a  tiny  rivulet,  stole  away 
to  supply  a  pond  in  the  outer  farmyard,  where  a  goodly 
iiTimber  of  ducks  and  geese,  with  its  help,  grew  and'rnulti- 
I-lied.    The  room  itself,  simply  furnished,  but  exquisitely 
clean;  the  snowy  bed-linen,  all  perfumed  with  the  sweet 
lavender  which  had  lain  amongst  them.    Von  Steinhausen 
glanced  approvingly  at  the  easy-chair,  the  writing- mate 
rials  on  a  convenient  table,  and  opposite  the  bed  a  water- 
color  sketch  of  a  young  man  in  uniform — an  open,  kindly 
I  face.     While  he  looked,  his  soldier-servant  entered  with  a 
|  tray,  on  which  was  spread  tempting  luncheon,  and  a  foarn- 
I  ing  beaker  of  delicious  beer. 

"  Gott  sei  dank,"  said  the  Rittmeister,  as,  throwing  him 
self  into  the  easy -chair,  he  seized  the  beer-glass,  while  he 
held  out  one  foot  that  his  servant  might  remove  his  boot. 

"Good  quarters,  Karl!"  ho  continued,  setting  down  the 
half -drained  glass. 

"  Not  bad,  Herr  Rittmeister ;  plenty  of  everything,  but 
folks  a  trifle  sulky.  However,  I  have  scarce  been  here  an 
hour." 

• 4<  Hence;  Karl!    Do  not  let  any  one  come  near  rne,  but 
at  five  rouse  me,  if  I  have  not  already  roused  you." 

"Good,  Herr  Rittmeister,"  and  soon  the  weary  soldier 
was  wrapped  in  profound  slumber,  while  the  junior  officers 
— Von  Planitz  and  first  Lieutenant  Burchardt— after  MI 
elaborate  toilet,  proceeded  to  pay  the  visit  of  respectful 
ceremony  to  the  ladvof  the  house  which  Prussian  office's 
rarely  omitted,  albeit  conquerors  received  on  compulsion. 
When  Von  Steinhausen  awoke  the  sun  had  accomplish' :d 
the  circuit  of  the  villa,  and  was  glinting  its  yellow  evoniv-^ 
rays  through  the  quivering  spaces  of  the  leaves,  and  touch- 
ing  the  water  in  the  basin  with  gold.     A  few  minutes  •>••: 
delicious  conscious  repose,  of  dreamy  uncertainty  as  to 
^  where  he  was  and  how  he  came  there,  and  Karl  enter*  -I 
I  with  automatic  punctuality  to  rouse  his  master,  and  Iny 
I  out  his  dressing  things.    So  the  Rittmeister,  recalled  to  the 
J  realities  of  existence,  rose  to  dress  himself  and  write  SL»n:e 
letters  before  joining  the  supper-table. 

The  realities  of  existence  had  not  been  all  rose-color  to 
Steinhausen;  but  that  was  his  own  fault.  Well  born,  and 
well  endowed  by  nature,  few  men  had  had  a  better  stare; 
but  a  dash  of  fierce  eagerness  in  his  pursuit  of  whatever 
pleasure  or  whim  attracted  him  had  led  him  into  trouble 
in  various  ways,  and  made  him  some  enemies,  and  want  of 
wholesome  checks  in  early  youth  had  permitted  a  crust  of 
pride  and  selfishness  to  form  over  the  better  and  warmer 
nature  which  lay  beneath.  Some  years  before  the  break- 


6  MAID,    WIFE,    OR    WIDOW f 

ing  out  of  the  war,  Von  Steinhausen  had  found  himself  oil 
the  brink  of  ruin ;  gambling  and  other  debts  pressed  mad 
deningly  upon  him.  A  proposed  marriage  with  a  beauti 
ful  and  wealthy  widow  was  broken  off;  when  suddenly  a 
distant  relative— who  resided  too  far  from  'Berlin  to  be 
well  informed  as  to  his  kinsman's  doings— died,  leaving  the 
whole  of  his  large  property  to  the  drowning  lieutenant. 
From  that  day  Von  Steinhausen  was  a  different  man — 
harder,  steadier  in  a  sense,  and  certainly  a  better  member 
of  society.  The  fair  widow  made  some  graceful  advancesr 
which  Von  Steinhausen  had  politely  but  positively  ignoK 
ed.  and  now  he  had  won  for  himself  a  high  reputation,  no*5 
merely  for  courage,  but  soldierly  ability. 

His  toilet  finished,  his  rich  Eed  Hussar  uniform,  thickly 
laced  with  gold,  accurately  adjusted,  he  sat  down  to  write 
his  letters  before  leaving  the  room.  A  tall  figure,  every 
inch  a  soldier's,  with  deep  dark  eyes  gleaming  under  black 
brows,  and  crisp,  dark-brown  hair  clustering  round  some 
what  rugged  temples ;  a  face  sunburnt  to  almost  Eastern 
swarthiness,  and  lined  here  and  there  as  a  man  of  his  ag# 
ought  not  yet  to  be ;  his  mouth  was  hidden  by  a  heavy- 
dark  mustache,  through  which  white  teeth  gleamed  when 
he  laughed,  as  he  often  did,  not  without  a  touch  of  scorn, 
and  without  any  accompanying  softness  in  the  eyes. 

It  was  the  hour  of  universal  repose  in  Germany;  tho 
confused  murmur  of  sound  which  he  had  heard  when  h* 
first  awoke  had  gradually  died  away,  and  profound  still* 
ness  made  itself  felt.  After  his  third  letter  Steinhauseii 
laid  down  his  pen,  and  leaned  back  in  his  chair  to  enjoy 
the  delicious  silence.  Presently  a  sound  stole  upon  the 
stillness  like  a  gentle  ripple  over  the  face  of  a  sleeping 
lake.  Max  von  Steinhausen  listened,  and  then  tapped  his 
boot  in  time  to  the  well-known  German  air, 

"  When  I  come,  when  I  coine, 
When  I  come  back  again," 

very  softly  and  sweetly  sung— so  softly  that  but  for  the 
extreme  quiet  of  the  afternoon  hour  it  would  not  have 
reached  Steinhausen's  ear.  In  another  minute  the  song 
ceased,  a  voice  murmured  some  words  the  listener  could 
not  catch,  arid  then  the  song  was  resumed,  with  a  peculiar 
tenderness  in  the  strain.  Steinhausen  rose,  cautiously 
holding  his  saber  to  avoid  making  any  noise,  aad  ap 
proached  the  window,  which  was  open,  in  order  to  peep 
through  the  jalousies  unseen. 

"  That  is  no  Dienstmadchen's  song,"  he  thought.  "It  is 
a  trained,  refined  voice,  and  expressive  too." 

Looking  carefully  through  the  blind  he  discovered  the 
singer.  The  room  occupied  by  Steinhausen  was  near  an 


MAID,     WIFE,    OR    WIDOW  t  7 

angle  of  the  square  formed  by  the  house  and  offices  on  three 
sides,  the  gateway  and  low  walls  right  and  left  of  it  making 
the  fourth.  The  chief  entrance  was  beneath  the  apart 
ments  assigned  to  the  Prussian  officers;  but  to  the  right  of 
Stcinhausen's  window,  in  the  side  of  the  house  opposite 
the  gateway,  -was  a  smaller  door— or,  rather,  a  French 
window— to  which  two  or  three  stone  steps  led  from  tko 
yard.  It  was  open,  and  on  the  stone  steps  before  it  stood 
the  songstress — a  slight  figure  in  white,  with  a  black  sash 
and  ribbons,  her  abundant  fair  hair  parted  and  drawn 
back  from  the  face  into  rich  coils,  and  the  face  itself,  oval 
and  broad-browed,  slightly  raised,  with  a  dreamy  look, 
toward  the  window  where  the  unseen  watcher  had  taken, 
up  liis  post  of  observation.  Her  right  arm  rested  on  th3 
rail  which  defended  the  steps,  and  the  hand  held  an  open 
letter,  while  the  left,  dropped  to  her  side,  clasped  a  small 
key-basket. 

It  was  long  since  Steinhausen  had  looked  upon  so  charm 
ing  a  figure.  An  indefinable,  soft,  womanly  grace  pervad 
ed  every  line  and  marked  every  gesture,  while  the  lacs 
undersleeve,  falling  back,  showed  a  wrist  and  arm  won 
derfully  round  and  fair.  As  he  looked  the  song  ceased 
again,  for  several  pigeons  came  fluttering  down,  some  to 
strut  and  bow  at  her  feet— some,  more  audacious,  perching 
themselves  on  the  rail  at  her  elbow.  She  put  the  letter, 
with  a  sort  of  tender  care,  inside  the  folds  of  her  dress  (on 
the  left  side,  Steinhausen  noticed),  and,  searching  in  her 
basket,  produced  some  grain  or  seeds,  which  she  threw  to 
the  pigeons,  speaking  softly  to  them,  the  murmur  of  her 
voice  reaching  Steinhausen  where  he  stood,  fascinated  iu 
an  unaccountable  degree. 

There  was  nothing  about  the  quiet  figure  which  deserved 
to  be  called  "  beautiful."  He  had  seen  dozens  of  women 
far  lovelier  and  more  distinguished.  But  why  attempt  to 
describe  the  indescribable?  Steinhausen,  scoffer  and  ske:  - 
tic  as  he  was,  was  suddenly  and  completely  captivated. 
He  would  have  scorned  to  admit  it  even  to  himself  in  eo 
many  words,  yet  he  wTas  conscious  of  a  wild,  intense  wis  JL 
to  talk  with  this  fair  girl  face  to  face,  to  ask  her  history, 
to  attract  to  himself  the  delicate  tenderness  which  sh3 
lavished  on  the  mute  creatures  round  her  (one  had  justj 
taken  a  seed  f-oni  her  lips).  It  was  no  whimsical,  inte> 
mittent  kindness  that  had  thus  familiarized  them  with  her 
presence!  Loaning  his  arm  against  the  side  of  the  win 
dow-frame  above  his  head,  Steinhausen  gazed  through  th-3 
down-slanting  jalousies  to  his  heart's  content,  unseen  an  i 
safe. 

J&ife-ttifl  vHla  was  rousing  itself  from  its  afternoon  repose 
Souua^x'f  voices  and  the  occasional  clatter  of  pots  and 


8  MAID,     WIFE,    OR    WIDOW  f 

pans  from  a  large  apartment  to  the  right  of  the  steps 
where  the  lady  in  white  stood,  broke  the  stillness.  Several 
hens  and  chickens,  which  had  been  lazily  luxuriating  in. 
beds  of  sand  and  gravel  under  the  shade  of  the  walnut- 
tree,  now  crept  out  and  came  clucking  and  chirping  toward 
the  general  benefactress  to  share  whatever  was  going. 
The  tramp  of  heavy  boots  sounded  from  the  stables,  and  a 
trooper  with  a  couple  of  buckets  came  across  the  yard  j 
and  proceeded  to  fill  them  from  the  stone  trough;  having  J 
done  so,  he  advanced  a  step,  and  stood  gazing  very  uncoa-  ' 
cernedly  at  the  object  of  Steinhausen's  admiration.  "It 
is  that  insolent  brute,  Martin,"  he  muttered,  with  infinite 
disgust.  "  These  fellows  must  not  give  themselves  the 
airs  of  conquerors  here !"  and  he  frowned  portentously  as 
a  pleased  grin  spread  itself  over  the  soldier's  broad  'red 
face.  A  large  Newfoundland  dog  at  that  moment  came 
bounding  from  the  farm-yard,  and  proceeded  to  bestow  his 
boisterous  caresses  on  the  central  object,  upsetting  her 
basket  and  scattering  the  keys  about.  "Down,  Kero, 
down!"  thou  hast  forgotten  all  thy  master's  teaching," 
cried  the  young  lady,  loud  enough  to  be  distinctly  heard ; 
at  the  same  time  the  trooper  came  quickly  forward,  and, 
with  amazing  politeness,  assisted  in  collecting  the  keys, 
restoring  them  to  the  basket  with  an  "  Erlauben  Sie  mirt 
gnadige  Frau  f  She  bent  her  head  in  acknowledgment, 
while  a  slow  grave  smile  parted  her  lips. 

"  Gnadige  Frau ?"  repeated  Steinhausen.  "Impossible.1* 
But  his  watch  was  over ;  a  bright,  dark-eyed  little  girl  of 
thirteen  or  fourteen,  her  fair  hair  in  long  plaits,  tied  also 
with  black  ribbon,  came  quickly  through  the  glass  door, 
with  a  large  garden-hat  in  one  hand,  which  she  held  out  to> 
the  fair  "keeper  of  the  keys,1' speaking  at  the  same  time 
with  some  eagerness.  The  lady  whom  Steinhausen  had  so 
sedulously  watched  immediately  put  on  the  hat,  and,  gath 
ering  up* her  long  muslin  dress,  fastened  it  in  the  silver 
clasp  hung  round  the  waist  for  that  purpose.  Followed  by 
the  young  girl,  she  descended  the  steps,  and,  walking 
quickly  through  the  yard,  was  soon  beyond  Steinhauson's 
ken.  The  scene  had  occupied  fewer  minutes  than  I  have 
pages  in  describing  it.  Steinhausen  strode  quickly  across 
jus  room  and  opened  the  door;  it  led  into  that  occupied  by 
Von  Planitz  and  Bur  char  dt.  which  was  vacant;  but  beyond, 
a  sound  of  brushing  and  hissing  showed  that  the  soldier- 
valet  was  mindful  of  his  duties. 

"  Karl,"  cried  Steinhausen. 

"Herr  Rittmeister?"  A  gaunt  tall  figure  in  a  fati^us 
jacket  quickly  presented  itself. 

"Send  that Martin  here." 

*  Jawohl,  Herr  llittmeieter." 


MAID,     WIFE,    OR    WIDOW  9  9 

In  a--  few  minutes  a  heavy  thump  on  the  door  was  fol 
lowed  by  the  entrance  oi:  a* trooper. 

"Martin,  how  go  the  horses?  There  are  four  unfit  for 
service  left  behind  by  the  last  party,  I  am  told." 

"Ja,  Herr  Rittmeister!  two  are  "still  very  bad,  the  feet 
in£amed;  one  will  be  scarce  fit  for  much  again." 

Alter  a  few  more  questions  on  regimental  matters,  Stein- 
hroisen,  throwing  himself  back  in  bis  chair,  said  sternly: 
"Look  here!  I  will  have  no  insolent  airs  played  off.  The 
people  of  this  place  are  civil  and  hospitable,  and  there  is  no 
need  to  make  them  more  unfriendly  than  they  are." 

The  man  gazed,  open-mouthed,  too  astonished  to  reply. 

"There,  thick-head,"  exclaimed  the  Rittmeister,  "have 
you  spoken  so  much  Bohemian  jargon  that  you  cannot  un 
derstand  honest  German  when  you  hear  it  !7' 

4<  Donner- wetter  I  Idono£  understand  what  Herr  Ritt- 
meister  means !  Who  has  complained  of  me  ?  Gott  1  I 
have  been  an  angel  of  politeness  and  good -nature  since 
I  came  in  here,  and1 " 

• '  Silence,"  cried  his  officer.  "  I  saw  you  just  now  stand 
there,  like  an  audacious  scoundrel  as  you  are,  and  stare 
and  grin  at  the  gnadige  Fraulein  when  she  was  feeding  the 
pigeons." 

"  Ach,  Gott,"  said  the  man,  the  objectionable  grin  steal 
ing  back  over  his  large  strong  features,  "That  wad  no 
matter  1  the  gnadige  Fran  is  very  friendly  with  me.  She 
didn't  mind!  You  see,  Herr  Rittmeister,  I  was  with  the 
rear-guard;  we  did  not  get  up  here  till  past  noon ;  it  was 
hot — hot  as  the  devil ;  and  instead  of  turning  into  this 
heavenly  place,  it  was  my  ill  luck  to  have  to  go  on  h  igher 
up  to  a  poor  hovel  of  a  Hausler ;  but  the  road  behind  there 
brought  me  past  a  window,  and  I  saw  through  into  a 
kitchen,  where  there  were  baking  and  cooking,  and  chop 
ping  and  grating,  and  the  Gnadige  stood  in  the  midst  and 
ordered  everything  like  a  real  Oberst." 

"  Gut  it  short,  Martin,"  interposed  Steinhausen. 

"Jawohl,  Herr  Rittmeister.    Well,  I  was  nearly  dead 
;  with  thirst,  so  I  looked  in  and  asked  for  a  glass  of  water ; 
5  with  that  the  gnadige  Fran  turned  her  sweet  eyes  on  me, 
so  grave  and  still,  and  says  she,  k  Poor  man,  he  looks  hot 
ana  weary ;  enemy  or  no,  give  him  some  beer  for  the  sake 
of  our  own  dear  ones  far  away,  and  suffering,  too.'    So  she 
handed  me  a  big  glass,  so  high,"  holding  his  hand  over  the 
table.    "  Ach !  it  was  heavenly ;  cold— dew  was  all  over  the 
sides,  and  foaming,  and "  His  powers  of  description  ex 
hausted,  he  smacked  his  lips  and  stood  silent. 

"  So,  in  return  for  the  young  lady's  goodness,  you  come 
back  to  stare  rudely— for  you  nad  no  business  here,  if  y  t*ur 
quarters  are  elsewhere." 


10  MAID,     WIFE,    OR    WIDOW  f 

"But,  Herr  Ritttneister,  there  is  an  indifferent  supply  of 
•water  up  yonder,  and  I  thought  I  would  draw  a  couple  of 
buckets,  so  the  gnadige  Fran " 

"  Durnm  KopL' !  why  call  a  girl  so  ?" 

"Nein,  Herr  Rittmeister!  she  is  the  lady  of  the  house; 
they  all  obey,  and  call  her  G-imdige  and  gnadige  Frua.  I 
think  her  man  is  either  dead  or  away  with  the  army,  anl 
snd  the  Herr  papa  and  Frau  mamma  either  stay  with  her 
or  give  all  into  her  keeping.  But  if  Herr  Rittnmster  had 
but  seen  the  face  of  the  cook,  a  cranky  Frauenzim- 
irier " 

"Silence,  Martin,  no  more  gossip;  right  about,  march/* 
'lite  man  saluted,  and  walked  "stiffly  away. 

"Karl,"  called  Steinhaueen,  after  a  few  minutes'  par.se. 

"Here,  Herr  Rittmeister,"  and  Karl  flattened  himself 
against  the  door  by  which  he  had  entered. 

"Is  supper  ready?''  continued  Steinbausen,  putting  up 
his  writing  things,  and  locking  a  small  dispatch-box. 

"They  are  now -setting  it  forth,"  replied  Karl,  with  a 
faint  sigh  at  the  recollection. 

"Good!  I  will  present  myself  at  table;  rest  has  restored 
my  appetite.  Made  friendship  with  the  cook  already?'7 

"*]Vot  yet,  Herr  Rittmeister." 

"  Fire  away,  then!  I  want  particulars  about  the  family." 

"The  Herr  is  Gerichtsamtmann  of  the  district,  and 'r 

interrupted  the  imprudent  Karl. 

"Hold  thy  foolish  tongue!'1  cried  his  master;  "know 
that.  Find  "out  for  me  who  this  is,"  pointing  to  the  por 
trait  above  described.  "  Who— who  the  lady  of  the  house 
ir- — the  young  lady — or — in  short,  for  once  in  thy  life  be 
intelligent  and  carry  out  the  spirit  of  thy  orders!" 

So  saying,  Steinhausen  left  the  room,  and  clattered 
down-stairs,  his  saber  clanking  behind  him. 

"  Ach  Himmel!"  said  Karl,  gazing  after  him,  perplexed, 

and  drawing  the  blacking-brush  he  had  brought  with  him, 

when  he  ran  at  his  master's  call,  across  his  nose.     "How 

ne  get  particulars  without  asking  questions  ?  and  \vl:;iJ; 

i.-j>  the  use  ot  questions  when  none  will  answer  T 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  house  seemed  empty.  When  Von  Steinhausen 
reached  the  parterre  which  was  occupied  by  the  receptipu- 
y  -oin.s,  not  a  creature  was  to  be  seen.  However,  nothing 
i:.(sunt*Ml,  he  opened  a  door;  it  was  evidently  that  of  "Herr 
}  apa's  study,"  or  business-room,  and  contained  a  large 
Writing- table,  heaps  of  papers,  book-shelves  laden  with 
F,  ii'.ber,  solid-looking  volumes,  a  lamp  with  a  green  shade, 
etc.  Steinhausen,  turning  sharply  away  and  shutting  tho 


MAID,     WIFE,    OR    WIDOW  f  1"! 

door,  was  met  face  to  face  by  a  neat  little  ' '  Stubenmacl- 
chen,"  with  the  pretty,  characteristic  apron,  the  "Latz- 
chen,"  or  bib  part,  fastened  to  the  bosom  with  ornamental 
pins,  a  coquettish  muslin  and  lace  cap  partly  concealing 
her  flaxen  hair. 

4t  Ach!  Bitte!  die  Herrschaft  (honorable  company)  are  all 
out  in  the  garden,  or  the  fields,''  she  said,  with  the  true 
Saxon  sing-song.  "  If  the  *  Gnadiger  Herr '  will  take  a  seat 
in  the  salon  they  will  soon  return,  or  by  here  " — throwing 
I  open  the  door  and  pointing  to  that  leading  to  the  veranda 
— "  he  can  into  the  garden  and  allees  descend." 

Steinhauseii,  with  a  quick  "  Danke  sehr,"  entered,  and, 
as  the  door  closed  behind  him,  stood  a  moment  irresolute 
in  the  middle  of  the  cool,  fragrant  room,  which  had  some 
thing  gracefully  homelike  in  its  simplicity.  But  Sfcem- 
hausen's  irresolute  moments  were  usually  of  short  dura 
tion.  The  coast  being  clear,  he  said  to  himself:  "It  is 
permissible  in  an  enemy's  country  to  reconnoiter,"  an  I 
glancing  round  he  very  deliberately  proceeded  to  examine 
the  books,  a  number  of  which  were  piled  on  an  oval  tab'  j 

Eushed  into  a  corner  under  a  bracket  which  supported  i 
ust.  Among  the  volumes  were  some  French  memoirs, 
several  English  novels  and  books  of  travel,  German  poetry, 
etc. ;  some  English  newspapers,  too,  lay  about.  Steiii- 
hausen,  not  being  familiar  with  the  language,  turned  fro:,i 
them  with  a  slightly  contemptuous  expression  of  surpri>-3 
in  his  upraised  brows.  Near  the  sofa  stood  another  table, 
with  a  beautiful  Meissen  china  dish,  full  of  sweet  flowers* 
and  round  it  lay  four  or  five  photograph  albums  of  various 
eizes.  4i  Ha!"  said  Stoinhausen,  almost  aloud,  as  he  caught 
eight  of  them.  kk  Here,  no  doubt,  lies  a  clew  to  the  family 
history,"  and  drawing  a  chair  to  the  table,  he  began  h^ 
inspection.  No.  1,  a  large  book,  was  full  of  landscapes  ai.I 
street  views,  all  adorned  by  prettily  designed  borders  or 
frames  neatly  drawn.  No.  2  was  a  very  varied  collection 
of  portraits,  principally  of  young  girls  and  children,  many 
with  signatures — foreign  names  predominating;  there  wi  * 
also  a  fair  sprinkling  of  men,  old  and  young,  with  an  1 
without  uniform.  **  Now  I  have  it,"  he  thought,  as  lia 
opened  No.  3,  and  in  the  first  page  recognized  the  strong 
resemblance  between,  a  bright-looking  elderly  gentleman 
and  the  bust  on  the  bracket.  "  This  is  the  family  book.'* 
He  was  quite  absorbed.  Soon  he  found  out  the  little  girl 
he  had  seen  speaking  with  the  object  of  his  curiosity.  And 
then  the  Fraulein,  or  Frau,  herself,  in  deepest  black,  witiz. 
the  saddest  expression ;  but  that  graceful  turn  of  the  nee  > 
»n<J  shoulder!  he  would  know  it  among  a  thousand! 
Further  On  was  another  portrait  of  her.  different  yet  not 
younger  looking,  less  depth,  less  intellect  in  the  face^ 


12  MAID,     WIFE,    OR    WIDOW  f 

the  longer  he  looked  the  more  he  perceived  the.  change 
which  had  taken  place  since  this  picture  had  been  taken, 
or  perhaps  it  was  a  bad  photograph.  But  who  is  this  on 
the  opposite  page,  smiling  at  her  with  all  his  might  ?  The 
same  officer  whose  likeness  hung  in  his  (Steinhausen's) 
room,  only  older  and  less  simple-looking.  *'  Pooh!  quite  a 
common  style  of  fellow."  To  winch  opinion  the  Bitt- 
meister  was  guided  by  a  strong  feeling  of  unaccountable 
dislike  rather  than  sound  judgment.  Another  officer  was 
also  to  be  frequently  seen  at  all  stages,  from  a  cadet  to  first 
lieutenant.  His  resemblance  to  the  young  ladies  was  suf 
ficiently  marked  to  suggest  his  brotherhood. 

"I  wonder  is  she  Maid,  Wife,  or  Widow?"  exclaimed 
Steinhausen.,  clasping  the  book  with  an  impatient  snap. 
i 'Bah !  What  is  it  to  me?"  He  rose,  and  saw  by  a  clock  on 
the  console  at  the  end  of  the  room  that  he  had  been  ceeu- 

Eied  with  the  photographs  for  nearly  three-quarters  of  an. 
our,  and  so  completely,  that  he  had  not  heard  a  very 
light  footfall,  or  perceived  a  small  figure  that  had  stolen 
through  the  veranda  to  peep  at  the  Prussian,  just  as  he  had 
closed  the  book  with  the  foregoing  exclamation. 

"  This  is  slow  work,"  he  thought.  "  I  will  see  what  is  to 
be  found  in  the  garden."  Whereupon  he  descended  the 
steps  and  walked  away  down  the  first  allee  which  presented 
itself. 

Meantime  the  quiet  of  the  entrance  court  was  broken  by 
the  unwonted  appearance  of  an  open  carriage,  driven  by 
an  evidently  hired  driver,  and  drawn  by  two  weary,  droop 
ing  horses,  the  whole,  as  well  as  the  two  ladies  who  sat 
therein,  covered  with  dust. 

As  they  stopped  at  the  open  door,  Hans  came  fortLi  to 
answer  their  eager  demand  f  or  "  Herr  Gerichtsamtmann.'7 

''Gone  out!"  screamed  the  elder  lady.  "Why,  I  was 
told  at  the  Gerichtsamt  in  Pirna  that  he  must  be  at  the 
villa,  as  he  had  not  been  in  town  to-day,  and  wearied  as 
we  are,  by  a  long  railway  journey,  we  hired  a  carriage 
and  came  on.  I  really  must  see  Herr  Gerielitsamtmanu." 

Hans  was  not  a  little  overwhelmed  by  this  attack ;  he 
was  willing  to  do  the  impossible  at  the  command  of  so 
great  a  lady,  but  with  the  best  of  wills  he  could  not  evoke 
the  Gerichtsamtmann  from  space.  So,  as  the  next  best 
thing,  he  humbly  suggested  an  intervie\v  with  the  Fraa 
Amtmann. 

This  amende  was  not  graciously  accepted,  and  the  ladies 
alighting,  permitted  Hans  to  usher  them  into  the  Herr 
Amtxuaim's  Arbeitzimmer,  or  study,  while  he  sought  his 
mistress,  and  announced  that  Frau  Baronin  and  Fraulein 
von  Wutheaau  wished  to  speak  wifch  her.  Frau  Gherkin, 
by  no  means  overpowered  by  these  specimens  of 


MAID,     WIFE,    On    WIDOW?  13 

although  they  declared  themselves  Prussian  to  boot,  ex 
plained  that  she  expected  her  husband's  return  every  mo- 
usent,  and  begged  they  Would  repose  themselves  till 
he  came,  offering  them  a  Dresden  morning  paper,  and 
clearing  a  crowd  of  books  and  documents  irom  a  very 
comfortable  easy-chair,  that  the  Fran  Baronin  might  rest 
after  her  long  drive. 

Meantime  the  sound  of  voices,  which  he  recognized  as 
his  brother  officers',  led  Steinhausen  from  one  part  of  tho 
garden  to  the  other,  and  at  last  he  came  up  with  them  just 
as  they  were  called  into  supper  by  the  smart  little  maiden 
who  had  shown  him  into  the  salon. 

"  So  you  are  awake  onco  more,  Ilerr  Kittrrieister  "  said 
Lieutenant  Burchardt. 


"How  ?"  said  Steinhausen,  shortly. 

"The  eldest  daughter  is  a  most  charming  creature — ;i 
littje  stiff  and  too  coldly  polite,"  said  Burchardt. 

" Dignified,  you  mean,"  corrected  the  Fahnrieh. 

"Well,  deucediy  uncommunicative,"  continued  Burch 
ardt.  "At  all  events,  the  Frau  mamma  seems  too  cast 
down  to  take  part  in  anything,  so  after  coffee  the  Fraulein 
asked  us  if  we  should  not  like  to  walk  round  the  garden, 
conducted  us  to  tho  first  ailee,  and  with  a  polite  excuse, 
left  us." 

"We  have  read  all  the  papers  we  could  find,  gone  round 
to  the  stables,  made  friends  with  a  bright  little  *  Bachfisch- 
chen  '(school -girl),  and  now  are  at  the  end  of  our  resources. 
So  come  along  to  supper." 

"•  Fraulein  1"  repeated  Steinhausen.  <;  Is  this  protninenfc 
personage,  then,  unmarried ?" 

<ll  suppose  so,"  said  the  lieutenant,  shrugging  liia 
shoulders,  "though  she  is  a  little  too  grave  and  selt'-pos- 
seftbed  for  a  young  maiden.  No  matter— to  supper,  com 
rades,  to  supper." 

The  three  officers  ascended,  the  steps,  and  passing  through 
tho  salon  to  the  dining-room,  the  doors  of  which  wero 
cpcn,  made  their  bows  to  the  lady  of  the  house,  to  whom 
Burchardt  presented  Von  Steinhausen. 

With  a  brief  apology  for  his  non-appearance  at  dinner, 
the  Kittmeister  looked  round  as  if  to  find  his  place,  but  i  i 
vain;  only  Frau  Gheriug  and  the  little  girl  ho  hail  seen  iu 
tho  courtyard  were  present.  "  Here,  Herr  Rittmeisler," 
cried  the  latter,  with  an  air  oi  much  iinportaiiuo,  "  pieaiso 
sit  here  between  Lies  an4  papa." 

"My  husband  was  unfortunately  .calltd  away  to 


U  MAID,     WIFE,    OR    WJDOWf 

distance  tliis  morning,"  observed  Frau  Ghering,  "but  w(, 
expect  him  for  supper." 

The  Eittmeister  bowed,  and  took  his  appointed  seat  with 
t^acrity.  In  another  moment  the  object  of  his  thoughts 
•xvould  be  beside  him,  and  a  dozen  opportunities  must  occur, 
More  the  evening  meal  was  over,  for  satisfying  his 
curiosity. 

The  same  homelike  charm  which  pervaded  the  housa 
r,nd  household  was  perceptible  in  the  salle  a  manger.  Its 
pale  gray  walls,  relieved  by  the  warm  red  drapery  of  the 
<:  artains — the  table,  tempting  from  the  fineness  and  white 
ness  of  the  Lausitz  damask  table-linen — the  brightness  of 
t:ie  silver,  the  delicate  forms  of  the  Meissen  china,  and  the 
group  of  field-flowers,  which  shed  a  simple  beauty  over 
all,  struck  the  Prussians  as  elegant  beyond  what  could 
have  been  expected  in  the  neighborhood  of  an  obscure 
Saxon  country  town. 

As  Steinhnusen  took  in  these  details  while  unfolding  his 
rapkin,  the  door  leading  to  the  corridor  was  opened  by 
Lies,  who  ushered  in  two  ladies  in  fashionable  traveling 
dresses,  saying  as  she  did  so:  "My  mother,  these  ladiea 
have  waited  so  long  that  I  have  persuaded  them  to  join  us 
at  supper." 

Fran  Ghering  rose,  and  proceeded  to  go  through  the  in 
troductions  inevitable  in  Germany  on  such  an  occasion. 
T%o  sooner  was  the  name  of  Yon  Steinhausen  pronounced 
than  the  elder  of  the  two  ladies,  with  much  animation, 
exclaimed:  "I  have  surely  had  the  honor  of  meeting 
Kerr  .Eittmeister  last  winter  in  Berlin,  at  the  Grafin  von 
C 's3" 

"  No  doubt  I  have  had  that  honor,"  returned  Steinhau- 
82ii,  carelessly,  as  he  watched  the  movements  of  Lies. 

"Pray  sit  here,"  s;dd  that  young  lady,  with  distracting 
politeness,  drawing  back  the  chair  destined  for  herself; 


dropping  a  a  light  courtesy  at  her  mother's  passing 
ci'.iction,  "  My  daughter,  Eferr Eittmeister,"  led  the  younger 
JL  nest  to  a  seat  opposite,  next  to  Lieutenant  Burchardfc. 

14  Lies,"  said  Frau  Ghering,  "  thou  hadst  better  take  thy 
father's  seat  until  he  comes." 

L>  Yes,  dear  mother;"  and  she  placed  herself  accordingly, 
vritli  a  glance  of  suppressed  mirth  and  covert  meaning  to 
her  younger  sister  which  indicated  more  of  mundane  feel- 
ing  than  her  calm,  nuiilike  bearing  would  have  suggested. 
Hut  Steinhausen  missed  this  momentary  revelation.  He 
was  helping  himself,  in  deepest  wrath,  to  some  excellent 
roasfc  hare,  and  giving  the  shortest  possible  answers  to  tlia 
Frau  Baronin's  Fashionable  reminiscences. 


MAID,     WIFE,    OR    WIDOW?  15 

At  the  opposite  side,  Fraulein  von  Wuthenau  sat  be 
tween  Burchardt  and  VonPlanitz,  whose  neighbor,  the  little 
Bachfischchen  Clara — or,  more  generally,  "Clarchen" — 
found  it  hard  to  oppose  a  cold  reserve,  becoming  the  ' '  con 
quered  but  unsubdued,"  to  the  frank,  merry  talk  of  her 
companion,  himself  a  mere  boy. 

Burchardt  meantime  made  himself  exceedingly  ridicu 
lous  (Steinhausen  thought)  by  his  almost  troublesome  at 
tentions  to,  and  persistent  attempts  to  converse  with,  the 
fair  Fraulein  or  Frau  at  the  foot  of  the  table.  (Steinhausen 
observed  she  wore  a  wedding  or  engagement  ring.) 
Burchardt  was  a  genial,  jovial  soul,  much  given  to  l>eer 
and  tobacco,  and  not  without  some  sense  of  humor.  His 
devotion  to  one  neighbor  and  negligence  of  the  other  struck 
the  Baronin  also  as  offensively  foolish.  And  the  Ritt- 
meister  too !  She  had  heard  he  was  a  hard,  selfish  creature, 
but  scarcely  expected  to  find  him  so  bearish. 

"The  gnadige  Frau  is  a  great  student,"  said  Burchardt, 
getting  down  his  beer-glass  after  a  deep  draught,  and  again 
turning  to  the  daughter  of  the  house.  He  had  called  her 
Fraulein  first,  and  Steinhausen  listened  sharply  for  her  re 
ply,  but  when  it  came  she  took  no  notice  of  the  change  of 
epithet.  "I  see  books  in  all  languages  yonder  on  your 
table." 

"  A  country  life  would  be  dull  without  some  such  pur 
suit,"  she  replied. 

"Doubtless,"  put  in  the  Baronin,  contemptuously. 
"  "Without  the  advantage  of  occasional  residence  in  a  capi 
tal  like  Berlin,  and  contact  with  well-bred  society,  the  fac 
ulties  are  apt  to  rust." 

"We  command  the  highest  class  of  society  here,"  said 
the  young  lady,  tranquilly. 

" Indeed!  Pardon  me,  if  I  ask  where  is  it  to  be  found? 
I  could  see  no  great  residences  as  I  drove  here  to-day :  of 
•whom  may  this  high-class  society  consist?" 

"Gentlemen  named  Goethe,  Schiller,  and  Macaulay; 
ladies  known  as  Burow,  Madame  de  Stael  and  Madame 
George  Eliot." 

"Dear  young  lady!  your  answer,  excuse  me,  betrays 
the  rustic!1'  remarked  the  Baronin,  with  infinite  conceit. 

"Very  likely,"  returned  Lies,  indifferently,  but  with  a 
ernile  and  glance  so  sweetly  arch  that  for  a  moment  she 
looked  quite  beautiful ;  moreover,  both  were  directed  to 
Steinhausen—  of  whom  she  had  hitherto  taken  not  the 
slightest  notice — with  an  irresistible  consciousness  that  he 
was  on  her  side.  The  effect  on  the  Rittmeister  was  electric : 
his  eyes  met  hers  with  a  bold  admiration  almost  startling, 
a»d  certainly  uot  agreeable  to  its  object. 


J6  MAID,     WIFE,    OR    WIDOW? 

"If  being  a  rustic  insures  good  taste,"  he  said,  "I  should 
be  inclined  to  beat my  sword  into  a  plowshare." 

64  Bah!  mein  HeberCamerad!  Where  is  your  perception?" 
cried  Burchardt,  4t  to  accept  the  Frauleiii's  description  of 
herself  as  a  rustic !  One  can  well  see  she  has  known  a  wider 
worjdthan  Bergfelde." 

"Oh!  yes,"  broke  in  Clarchen.  "My  sister  has  been  in 
Dresden,  and  so  have  I ;  but  she  has  been  in.  Vienna,  too, 
and  also  to  England." 

"1  trust,  then,"  said  Von  Planitz,  gallantly,  "that the 
gymdige  Fraulein  will  come  for  a  season  to  Berlin.  The 
co'art  festivities  are,  oh !  the  most  beautiful,  the  gayest  I 
Just  before  the  war  Her  Majesty  gave  a  superb  fancy  ball. 
I  was  one  of  the  pages  of  honor,  and  held  her  train:  mine 
was  a  medieval  costume— blue  velvet  slashed  with  white 
satin  and  laced  with  silver ;  my  mother  lent  me  her  diamond 
aigrette  for " 

"  Bhe  should  have  added  her  apron,"  growled  the  Kitt- 
xneister. 

Yon  Planitz  blushed  vividly  for  a  warrior  and  a  con 
queror,  and  Clarchen  came  generously  to  the  rescue. 

"  I  dare  say  you  would  have  been  very  glaxl  to  have  an 
aigrette  yourself,  Herr  Eittmeister,  had  you  been  asked  to 
the  ball,"  she  said,  saucily. 

"  Clarchen,v  said  the  warning  voice  of  the  elder  sister; 
Von  Steinhausen  laughed  good-humoredly. 

"Well,  now  we  are  all  united,"  resumed  the  young 
Fabnrich,  "  I  do  hope  the  Fraulein  will  come  to  Berlin, 
and  see  something  of  the  court  gayeties," 

"Oh!  at  Berlin.  No:  I  do  not  think  we  can  ever  go 
there  3  even  to  our  own  court  we  ca"nnot  go — only  papa  and 
my  brother.  Isit  not  funny !  Mamma,"  continued  the  chat 
terbox,  "  used  to  go  to  court,  and  now  she  is  married  she 
cannot;  that  does  not  seem  quite  fair." 

' '  Then  noble  Frauleins  should  wed  with  nobles,  and  not 
forfeit  their  privileges,"  put  in  the  Baronin,  impatient  to 
catch  the  ball  of  conversation,  and  speaking  with  a  tone  o£ 
superior  virtue,  Clarchen  was  opening  her  mouth  to  re 
ply,  when  her  sister  asked  her  to  pass  the  salad,  with  a 
glance  of  remonstrance  which  silenced  her  for  a  few  mo 
ments.  No  one  taking  up  the  thread  of  the  discourse, 
Frau  von  Wuthenau  continued :  "  In  these  days  it  is  neces 
sary  to  draw  the  line  more  strictly  than  ever.  You  re 
member,  Bertha,"  addressing  her  daughter,  "what  a 
struggle  Graf  K.  made  to  have  his  Englisli  wife  received^ 
and  ane  was  almost  noble — only  her  people  never  went  to 
the  English  court.." 

"  Yes,"  returned  the  young  Baroneesa,  "  Graf  K.  was  an 
taothusiast,  and  they  say  tinged  with  democratic  ideas. 


MAID,     WIFE,    OR    WIDOW  f  If 

Bid  he  not  quit  Berlin,  and  abjures  the  court  because  th» 
G-rafm  was  not  admitted?" 

41  They  said  so.  but  I  scarce  believe  it." 

"  He  acted  like  a  man  of  sense  and  spirit,"  remarked  the 
young  lady,  whom,  in  the  uncertainty  as  to  her  surname, 
we  must i  call  "Lies" — she  had  hitherto  been  silent  except 
to  utter  the  small  necessary  civilities  of  the  table. 

"  A.ch  Gott!"  cried  the  Baronin,  we  have  revolutionists 
here,  too." 

"And  a  dangerous  one,"  observed  Steinhausen,  with  a 
Blight  and  utterly  unnoticed  bow. 

"  No,  guadige  Frau!"  said  the  lady  of  the  house,  quickly. 
"  We  ladies  are  no  politicians,  and  my  husband  is  a  strict 
upholder  of  law  and  government." 

"  Nor  do  we  care  much  to  go  to  court,"  cried  Clsrohen; 
"our  dear  Princess  Margarethe  told  me  herself  that  the 
balls  are  tiresome;  buttho  water  parties  to  beautiful  Pill- 
nitz— sometimes  late  in  the  evening  in  illuminated  gondo 
las—they  must  be  delightful.  The  Hohen  Herrschaften  all 
fieem  so  merry  and  bright,  and  the  princess  says  they  are 
better  than  many  balls." 

"  The  Princess  Margarethe!"  almost  screamed  the  noble 
young  lady  opposite.  "Where  did  you  speak  to  her?"— a 
most  uncomplimentary  emphasis  on  the  "you." 

"Here,  Fraulein  v.  Wuthenau,"  returned  Clarchen, 
•with  a  little  nod  of  perfect  contentment.  ' '  The  royal  fa 
mily,  often  the  good  king  himself,  come  here  every  sum 
mer  once  or  twice  to  enjoy  the  view  from  our  balcony, 
so  when  the  princess  was  visiting  her  grandparents,  she, 
too,  came." 

"  It  seems,  then,"  said  Lieutenant  Burchardt,  helping 
himself  to  a  third  edition  of  roast  hare,  "that  their  Majes 
ties  of  Saxony  are  also  revolutionary.  Gott  I  I  am  not  as 
tonished,  meine  Gnadige,  if  you  give  them  such  heavenly 
beer  as  this,"  and  he  dipped  his  mustache  into  the  foam- 
ing  goblet  beside  him. 

•*  We  did  not  know  how  fair  and  rich  a  land  this  Saxony 
is  until  we  tasted  its  benefits,"  said  young  Von  Planitz  gal 
lantly. 

"  Pray,  Herr  Bittmeister,"  resumed  the  Baronin,  "  which, 
of  our  troops  were  engaged  at  Gitschin?  Had  the  — th 
regiment  many  losses?"  I  ha.ve  two  nephews  among  the 
wounded — ono  is  scarcely  expected  to  recover,  and  his  un 
happy  mother  had  had  no  opportunity  of  bidding  him  fare* 
fvolr  before  the  regiment  marched  to  Koniggratz." 

At  this  name  Frau  Ghering  moved  somewhat  restlessly, 
and  glanced  at  her  daughter,  whoso  color  rose  visibly  and 
becomingly^. 

"  Nevertheless,"  eaid  the  noble  Fraulein,  with  a  rathe* 


IS  MAID.    WIFE,    OR    WIDOWf 

Foiitiraental  up-turning  of  the  eyes,  "  lie  fell  gloriously  foi 
his  Fatherland,  and  in  the  arms  of  victory." 

"Ah I"  cried  Burchardt,  "it  has  been  a  sharp,  short 
affair,  this  Bohemian  campaign,  and  must  prove  to  th« 
enemies  of  Prussia " 

44  The  folly  of  adhering  to  obsolete  treaties  with  effete 
allies,"  put  in  Steinhausen,  contemptuously. 

"  Better  write  *  All  is  lost,  save  honor,'  after  our  fruitiest 
struggle,  than  break  faith  once  pledged,"  murmured  Lies; 
hut  the  loud  babble  of  voices  which  arose,  each  rehearsing 
the  adventures  and  exploits  of  his  or  her  relatives  ana 
regiments,  drowned  her  voice— only  Steinhausen,  listening 
intently,  caught  the  words  with  a  hard  smile  at  her  en 
thusiasm,  which  in  some  indefinable  way  angered  him. 
The  subject  being  an  irresistible  torrent  of  self-laudation, 
the  speakers  were  carried  away— quite  forgetting  that 
their  triumphant  success  was  a  bitter  defeat  to  their  Saxon 
hosts— that  the  desperate  hand-to-hand  encounters  so  glow 
ingly  described  inflicted  cruel  wounds  perhaps  on  those 
dear  to  the  listeners.  Frau  Ghering's  soft,  dark  eyes  filled 
with  tears;  Clarchen's  little  hands  clinched  themselves 
viciously;  and  above  the  delicate  lace  round  Lies'  throat  a 
quick  pulse  could  be  seen  to  quiver  impatiently,  as,  from 
war,  the  C9nversation  wandered  to  political  arrangements, 
and  the  wisdom  and  foresight  of  Prussia  was  vaunted  as- 
compared  with  the  folly,  weakness,  or  vacillation  of  otli  >r 
states.  At  length  a  passing  but  unmistakable  allusion  to 
the  prompt  decision  demanded  from  Saxony  as  to  her  alli 
ance  with  Austria  filled  the  cup  of  insult  to  the  brim ;  and- 
Lies,  rising  with  an  air  of  decision  remarkable  in  one  so 
young,  altnough  turning  rather  pale,  said  very  distinctly, 
"  Allow  me,  here  in  my  father's  place,  to  remind  the  com' 
pany,  (Herrschaften)  that  to  discuss  politics  or  religion  ii> 
mixed  society  is  contrary  to  good  breeding — to  discuss 
either,  in  a  party  so  unfortunately  constituted  as  this  oiia, 
is  contrary  to  good  feeling." 

She  sat  down,  and  a  profound  silence  fell  upon  the  guests. 
The  gentlemen  accepted  the  rebuke  and  looked  do\vu  .<  ;\ 
their  plates,  while  the  Prussian  ladies  laughed  nervoi..-.iv 
p.nd  angrily,  and,  with  some  head-tossing  and  bri^ii ;;.;., 
turned  to  Frau  Ghering,  remarking  on  the  lateness  of  t- .--•: 
hour,  and  the  necessity  of  returning  to  Pirna.  But  t-  > 
opening  of  a  door  to  admit  a  gentleman  created  a  kar  f 
diversion.  The  new-corner  was  a  short,  neat  figure,  v, ;  . 
an  alert,  genial  look,  chiefly  owing  to  a  peculiarly •plbc 


what  would  Lave  been  boyish  curia  iiad  not 


XAID,    WIFE,    OR    WIDOW?  19 

fcf  cached  them  to  a  pale  silvery  gray,  and  a  very  gentle 
manlike,  active,  not  to  say  dapper  figure,  completed  the 
personality  of  Herr  Gerichtsamtmann,  whose  entrance  was 
v?,?»  ornod'by  all. 

Eljs  .first  address  was  to  the  lady  strangers;  to  them, 
Prussians  or  not— enemies  or  not,  he  was  radiantly  polite. 
4 'He  was  made  infinitely  unhappy  by  finding  he  had  de 
tained  them,  but  now  he  was  quite  at  their  service,  and,  as 
the;?  had  supped,  would  they  accompany  him  into  his  Ar- 
\  beit" simmer  and  explain  their  business — if  the  remainder  of 
-g  the  rompany" — a  circular  bow — "would  excuse  him." 

1 !  .Many  thanks,  Herr  Amtmann,  said  the  Baronin,  rising 
in  a  stately  manner.  "My  son  has  decided  to  purchase  a 
Gut  not  far  from  here,  in  your  district,  intending  to  settle 
in  Saxony,  and  I  have  called  upon  you  to  ascertain  under 
wha  ••  conditions  one  could  raise  it  from  a  Bauer  to  a  Hitter 
Gutr-for,  of  course,  it  would  be  intolerable  to  persons  of 
our  rank  to  occupy  an  inferior  position  in  Saxony." 

"JXh!"  returned  the  polite  judge — a  long-drawn  * 'Ah  I'' 
"Thus  is  a  matter  which  bristles  with  difficulties.  If  the 
gnadige  Fran  will  follow  me  I  will  lay  a  few  of  them  bo- 
fore&er." 

He  waved  his  hand  toward  the  door. 

Th  5  Baronin  looked  at  her  watch.  •*  I  fear,  mein  Herr,  I 
must  ask  you  to  write  them  to  me.  I  am  staying  in  Dres 
den,  at  the  Hotel  de  Saxe,  but  we  have  scarce  time  to  catch 
the  Isst  train." 

41  Ach  ja!  the  gnadige  Frau  has  ten  minutes  to  spare,  in 
•which  I  can  explain  much — the  abolition  of  the  Fiohn- 
dienst,  the  Forest  rights,  the— Erlauben  Sie  mir,"  and  he 
threw  open  the  door.  The  Baronin  and  Baronessa,  with 
deep  courtly  courtesies  to  the  company,  who  stood  up  to 
say  a£ieu,  then  made  their  exit. 

CHAPTER  III. 

STEEJHAUSEN  observed,  with  some  irritation,  that  on  her 
father's  appearance  Lies  had  risen  quietly,  noiselessly  re 
placed!  the  knife  and  fork,  plate  and  glass,  she  had  used, 
with  others,  and  silently  left  the  room.  He  gnawed  his 
mustache  in  a  fit  of  impatience.  Supper  was  over,  and  not 
a  chance  had  offered  itself  for  cross-examining,  as  he  had 
intended  with  condescending  gallantry,  the  fair  girl,  or 
woman,  who  had  so  excited  his  fancy.  How  was  he  to 
open  up  his  advances  if  another  opportunity  off ered,  when 
she  had  so  severely  rebuked  him  ?  Of  course  an  abject 
apologv  might  serve  to  open  the  trenches ;  but  he  was  too 
eeriousV  vexed  with  her,  with  himself— everything,  to  like 
g  he  was  in  the  wxonjj.  He  feared  he  had  ou»> 


$0  MAID,     WIFE,    OR    WIDOW f 

raged  the  politeness  due  to  hosts,  even  on  compulsion.  He 
tried  to  tell  himself  that  the  whole  affair  was  not  worth  a 
thought,  that  to-morrow  the  whim  would  have  passed 
away,  and  even  while  he  reasoned  thus  sagely,  he  watched 
with  almost  fierce  eagerness  for  her  return.  "  But  only  the 
lively  little  Gerichtsamtmann  re-entered  alter  escorting  his 
visitors  to  their  carriage. 

Even  enemies  in  the  shape  of  guests  were  almost  wel 
come  to  the  kindly,  hospitable  Herr  Ghering.  He  advanced, 
rubbing  his  hands  cheerfully,  and  performing  one  or  two 
txnys,  while  he  struggled  to  maintain  the  grave  and  cold 
aspect  he  thought  suited  to  the  circumstances,  but  under 
-"which  rippled  the  bright,  kindly  smile  he  could  not  quite 
suppress.  ';  He  trusted  the  Herrschaft  had  been  duly  pro- 
vivided  with  all  they  required.  He  saw  that  already  they 
had  supper  ended.  He  would  not  detain  the  Ilerrn.  At  a 
disordered  table  to  sit  is  not  agreeable.  Pray  go  into  the 
salon,  my  wife  will  lead  you  there;"  at  which  hint  the  si 
lent  hostess  rose  and  preceded  her  guests  to  the  adjoining 
room.  There  was  something  of  quiet  sadness  in  the  lady's 
bearing  which  impressed  the  Prussian  officers  with  kindly 
respectj  and  Burciiardt  suggested  in  a  quick  aside  to  the 
Rittmeister  that  it  might  be  as  well  if  they  retired  to  their 
own  apartments.  u  No ;  certainly  not.  It  is  more  agree 
able  here,"  he  replied,  sharply. 

"Yes,  much  more  agreeable,"  echoed  the  Falmricb.  and 
the  three  officers  grouped  themselves  near  the  quiet  lady 
of  the  house,  who  had  already  taken  refuge  in  her  knit 
ting.  Conversation  proving  somewhat  difficult,  Von 
Planitz  and  Burchardt  wandered  away  to  smoke  in  the 
veranda ;  for  though  in  the  salon  the  lamp  was  necessary, 
a  splendid  harvest  moon  made  the  garden  and  surround 
ings  silvery  clear.  Steinhausen,  however,  stood  his  ground, 
and  tried  every  possible  subject  with  his  uncommunicative 
companion.  He  praised  the  villa  and  the  scenery,  the 
richness  of  the  crops  he  had  noticed  in  passing  through  the 
country,  the  fine  fiock  of  geese  he  had  seen  making 'their 
way  across  the  yard ;  but  neither  scenery,  crops,  nor  geese 
elicited  anything  like  a  hearty  response." 

At  last  Steinhausen  took  up  the  family  photograph 
album,  thinking  he  had  sufficiently  paved  the  way  to  the 
subject  uppermost  in  his  thoughts.  "  These  faniily  books 
are  very  interesting,"  he  said,  opening  it.  "I  like  to  trace 
the  same  type  of  face  through  varying  forms.  You  have 
some  very  charming  portraits  here.  May  I  be  permitted 
to  guess,  from  the  likeness  to  yourself,  that  this  young 
gentleman  is  your  son?"  showing  the  cadet  before  men 
tioned. 

44  He  is,"  returned  Frau  Ghering  with  a  sigh. 


IfATD,    WIFE,    OR    WlDOWf  31 

**And  here,  no  doubt,  is  your  Fraulein  daughter,"  re* 
earned  Steinhausen,  proceeding  triumphantly,  as  he 
tho\ight,  to  acquire  all  the  information  he  so  much  coveted, 
and  pointing  to  the  unsatisfactory  portrait  of  Lies  above 
described. 

"It  is— it  is— my  eldest  daughter, "said  the  lady,  with 
a  tremor  in  her  voice.  "Bitte,  bitte,"  she  added,  with 
a  deprecatory  motion  of  the  hand.  "Ask  me  no  more 
about  these  photographs;  there  are  memories  which  pre 
vent  my  speaking  of  them  with  the  calmness  1  ought  to 
show  before  a  stranger,"  and  she  knitted  a  little  more 
rapidly  than  before. 

Steinhausen  had  nothing  for  it  but — with  a  politely -ex 
pressed  apology  on  his  lips,  and  wrath  in  his  heart — to  shut 
the  book,  and  fall  back  on  the  crops  and  the  geese.  His 
unusual  patience,  however,  did  not  go  unrewarded.  In.  a 
lew  minutes  Clarchen  entered  the  room. 

"  Go,  dear,"  said  Frau  Ghering,  "call  Lies  hither;  I  am, 
but  poor  company,"  and  gathering  up  her  knitting,  she  left 
the  room. 

"  Lies  is  coming,"  said  Clarchen,  standing  irresolutely 
by  the  veranda  door,  strongly  tempted  to  join  the  agree 
able  Von  Planitz  without ;  but  a  dim  sense  of  what  was 
due  to  patriotism  and  propriety  held  her  back.  Stein 
hausen  rose.  Young  ladies  01  the  "  Bachfishchchen  "  period 
were  not  to  his  taste,  but  for  the  moment  she  was  of  im 
portance. 

"  And  what  do  you  do  with  yourself,  my  Fraulein,"  he 
asked,  good-humoredly,  "all  daylong  in  this  quiet  place ; 
no  concerts,  no  theater,  no  classes  ?  And  he  pushed  for 
ward  a  chair  for  her,  seating  himself  on  the  ottoman  as  he 
spoke ;  but  Clarchen  did  not  take  the  hint.  She  still  stood 
leaning  against  the  side  of  the  door,  where  she  had  moved 
after  a  moment's  hesitation.  "Do?  Oh,  I  have  plenty  to 
do.  I  have  my  own,  own  chickens  to  attend  to,  and  I  go 
twice  a  week  to  Pirna  for  lessons,  and  I  have  to  practice, 
for  Lies  teaches  me  music,  and  then— oh,  there  is  plenty 
to  do-  -then  we  used  to  have  beautiful  and  military  con- 

certs  before "  she  hesitated;  her  color  rose,  and  slia 

added,  with  an  irrepressible  burst  of  angry  feeling,  "  till 
you  came  and  spoiled  everything." 

Steinhausen  laughed.  "Are  we  such  terribly  bad  fel 
lows  as  to  spoil  the  harmony  of  your  life,  mem  Kindcheti?" 
he  said.  "  You  must  forgive,  and  learn  to  love  us!  We, 
too,  can  give  music— fine  music.  Have  you  never  heard  a 
Prussian Jband?" 

"  Never;  only  your  penny  whistles,"  returned  Clarchen, 
shortly. 

*'  What  I  Herr  Rittmeister,  are  you  and  the  little 


23  MAID,     WIFE,    OR    WIDOW f 

cv.nrreling'/'  asked  Burcharclt,  coming  in  from  the  veranda, 
*;Ah,  mJa  Fraulein,  the  Eittmeister  is  a  cruel,  hard 
hearted  being— not  like  me.  So  come  out  on  the  balcony 
and  tell  us  some  more  of  the  legends  you  repeated  in  tho 
garden  this  afternoon." 

Clarchen  hung  her  head  as  if  a  little  ashamed  of  having 
been  betrayed  into  such  a  familiar  footing  with  her  foes ; 
hut  she  was  rescued  from  the  dilemma  by  the  words,  "  Ex 
cuse  my  sister,  mein  Herr!  The  dew  falls,  and  she  is  bet 
ter  in-doors."  Lies  had  entered  Unperceived  behind  them. 
Stemhausen  rose  and  stood  with  an  air  of  deference  until 
she  should  seat  herself;  but  she  walked  to  a  large  orna 
mental  work-basket,  which  stood  at  the  end  of  the  room, 
and  taking  from  it  a  large  piece  of  half -finished  white  em 
broidery,  handed  it  to  the  young  lady  with  a  significant 
smile.  Clarchen,  with  a  slight  laugh  and  a  blush,  at  once 
sat  down  to  work,  and  her  sister,  taking  a  small  velvet 
case,  placed  herself  on  a  low  read  ing- chair  near  the  otto 
man,  and  drew  forth  a  finer,  but  not  less  elaborate,  speci; 
men  of  silk  work.  Burchardt  seated  himself  by  Clara,  and 
proceeded  to  tease  her  in  a  kindly  fatherly  fashion  about 


,  lounging 

woman,  whose  occupation  permitted  him  to  look  fixedly 
at  the  sweet  face,  the  quiet  grace  of  neck  and  shoulder,  tho 
pretty,  white,  deft  fingers.  "My  father,"  she  said  sgtfden- 
ly,  raising  her  eyes  fully  and  fearlessly  to  his,  "  drarged 
me  to  make  his  excuses  to  you— business  of  importance  de 
tains  him  in  his  ;  Arbeitzimmer'.'" 

"  The  courtesy  of  all  within  Villa  Bellevue  loaves  noth 
ing  to  complain  of." 

A  long  pause,  which  Steinhausen  felt  terribly  puzzled  to 
break — his  companion  looked  so  profoundly  calm,  so  coldly 
composed,  that  he  felt  more  severely  checked  than  if  sho 
had  testified  the  utmost  scorn  and  dislike,  besides  a  sense 
of  irritation  created  by  the  contrast  between  her  repose 
and  the  strange  longing  he  experienced  to  seize  her  soft 
email  hands  and  cover  them  with  kisses-  To  his  pleased 
surprise  she  broke  the  silence,  saying  with  an  arch  smile, 
**  TLOU  see  there  are  pleasant  corners  in  Saxony." 

"  It  is  a  charming  country,  and  full  of  precious  things," 
he  returned,  with  much  animation. 

"  Even  after  all  we  have  given  to  you, "she  addwl. 

"Given!"  cried  Steinhausen.  "Should  you  not  have* 
said  *  you  have  taken  from  us?' " 

"Yes,  taken  from  us,  "repeated  Lies,  thoughtfully,  with 
out  raising  her  eyes,  % 

"  And  we  are  greedy  still,"  continued  Steiahausen,  draw- 


MAID,    WIFE,    OR    WIDOW  f 

ing  near  to  his  companion.  "  Saxony  has  still  gems  left, 
which  some  of  us  at  least  long  to  annex." 

She  looked  up  iii  a  little  surprise,  but  his  eyes  toli  Ui? 
meaning,  and  in  spito  of  her  self- command  a  faint  r5;L  li 
stole  over  her  cheek  and  faded  slowly  away,  as  she  replied, 
"  Peace  at  least  secures  from  farther  annexation  for  the 
present/1 

"But  does  not  forbid  it  for  the  future,"  cried  Steiahau- 
sen,  eagerly. 

' l  You  should  be  ashamed  to  acknowledge  your  national 
greed,"  she  returned,  with  a  smile. 

••  I  am  far  frorn  ashamed  of  the  greed  I  acknowledge,1' 
said  Steinhausen,  significantly.  And  there  was  a  pause, 
the  young  lady  composedly  tracing  the  leaves  of  a  rose, 
part  of  which  already  glowed  on  the  silken  screen  she  was 
working,  while  Steinhausen  racked  his  brain  for  soine 
fresh  topic  by  means  of  which  he  might  relieve  his  curi 
osity  and  ingratiate  himself.  She  was  dreadfully  provok 
ing;  and  the  irresistible,  amused  smile  which  cre^t  over 
her  lips  as  the  silence  continued,  seemed  as  if  sho  was 
aware  of  his  difficulties.  "The  gnadiges  Fraulein  is  a 
lover  of  the  dumb  creatures  she  cared  for  so  kindly,"  he 
said,  at  length.  "  I  could  not  resist  watching  you  this 
evening  as  you  stood  in  the  Hof  yonder  and  fed  the 
pigeons." 

44  You  did !"  she  exclaimed  in  surprise. 

"  I  trust  I  may  be  forgiven,  Gnadige  Frau— Fraulcin  or 
Frau?"'  he  asked,  insinuatingly. 

"Whichever  you  like,"  she  returned,  unmoved. 

"  But,  pardon  me,  I  should  like  to  give  you  your  proper 
title." 

"  It  is  of  no  consequence, "  she  said,  slowly,  as  she  threaded 
her  needle.  "Your  accuracy  or  your  error  are  alike  to 
me,  while  to-morrow  you  will  ride  away,  and  the  memory 
ct'  your  passing  curiosity  will  have  faded  before  you  reach 
Y our  next  quarters. "  Without  raising  her  eyes  she  worked 
keadily  on. 

"  But  I  shall  not  ride  away  to-morrow,  nor  perhaps  tha 
day  after,"  cried  Steinhausen,  impetuously;  "and  it'  my 
memory  is  to  retain  nothing  of  the  interesting  hours  I  liavo 
spent  under  your  hospitable  roof,  do  you  imply  that  yours 
will  be  more  enduring  f ' 

"Much  more,1'  said  Lies,  pausing  as  she  drew  out  a  long 
thread.  "  I  shall  always  retain  a  rnont  vivid  recollection 
of  your  visit,  and  those  of  your  fellow -soldiers  who  pre 
ceded  you." 

She  spoke  emphatically,  looking  up  straight  into  his  eyea 

ith  an  effort  to  be  grave,  while  a  slight  but  iniscluovoua 
would  steal  into  the  dimples  of  her  check. 


$4  MAID,    WIFE,    OR    WIDOW f 

"  I  understand,  Fraulein,  replied  Steinhausen,  charmed, 
Tet  surprised  and  nettled  by  the  spirit  with  which  she  an 
swered.  He  despised  soft,  sentimental  women,  yet  resen ted 
self-assertion,  with  the  consistency  common  to  men  in 
ether  countries  besides  Germany. 

"A  painful  impression  is  not  so  easily  shaken  off.''  No 
reply.  "I  mean,  gnadige  Fran,  that  the  mortification  of 
receiving  Prussian  soldiers  leaves  its  mark.  But  may  I 
not  urge,  that,  being  by  the  accident  of  birth  and  circum 
stances,  one  of  these  unfortunates,  could  I,  with  any  sense 
of  honor,  decline  to  serve  my  king,  my  government  ?  And, 
being  ordered  here,  am  I  to  blame  for  forcing  myself  upon 
your  reluctant  hospitality  ?"  He  spoke  in  a  wounded  tone. 

"It  is  true,"  said  Lies,  gravely.  "  Perhaps  I  am  unjust. 
But,  Herr  Rittmeister,  imagine  your  sisters,  your  wife, 
your  mother,  forced  to  receive  Saxon  soldiers,  as  we  aro  to 
receive  yours." 

' '  No  stretch  of  my  imagination  could  depict  such  a  state 
of  things,"  he  returned,  with  a  light  laugh,  which  brought} 
the  quick,  eloquent  blood  to  Lies'  cheek.  "But  if  such  an 
event  could  happen,  and  I  had  mother,  sister,  or  wife, 
which  I  have  not,  they  would,  I  am  sure,  bo  leas  unkind, 
less  cruel,  than  you  are." 

"Cruel!  Pooh!  That  is  a  large  word  for  a  little  fruit 
less,  wordy  animosity.*' 

"There  is  animosity,  then?    You  allow  it?1' 

"  How  could  it  be  otherwise?"  cried  Lies,  throwing  down 
her  work,  "when  your  unnecessary  ambition  has  caused 
the  sorrow  and  impoverishment  of  a  whole  people,  the  suf 
fering  of  those  dearer  to  us  than  our  own  lives,  the  loss 

often  of  all  that  makes  life  worth  living "  She  stopped 

for  a  moment,  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 

"You  make  me  wish  myself  a  Saxon,"  said  Steinhausen, 
in  low  tones,  which  showed  he  was  deeply  moved. 

"Ah!  if  you  were!"  cried  Lies,  removing  her  hands  and 
looking  at  him  with  a  sudden,  strange  impulse. 

"  And  if  I  were?  "What  then  ?"  he  asked,  drawing  nearer. 

"Saxony  would  have  one  more  brave,  capable  soldier,  no 
doubt,  Herr  Rittmeister,"  she  replied,  quietly. 

Steinhausen  rose  and  walked  toward  the  veranda. 
Through  the  open  door  he  saw  the  smart  little  "  Dienstmad- 
chen,"  Daisy,  setting  out  a  table  with  beer  and  cigars  for 
the  benefit  of  his  brother  officers.  Ciarchen  had  vanished. 
On  looking  back,  he  was  alarmed  to  see  his  fair  antagonist 
folding  up  her  work,  as  if  about  to  retire ;  he  strode  quickly 
across  the  room,  and  again  threw  himself  on  the  ottoman 
beside  her. 

"We  have  infringed  the  rule  vou  so  forcibly  laid  do'vri 
at  supper,  mein  Fraulem,"  he  said.  "  Politics  and  religi^A 


MAID,     WIFE,    OR    WIDOW  f  & 

should  never  be  discussed  in  mixed  society;  and  smrsD  a^ 
it  is,  ours  is  a  very  mixed  society,  '  nicht  wahr?'  So  permit 
me  to  touch  on  more  personal  "matters.  You  have  somo 
very  dear  to  you  with  the  army?'' 

'  'I  have— many;  my  brother,  and  others,  relatives— 
fri-  nds."  She  spoke  slowly,  hesitatingly. 

"Dare  I  further  conjecture  a  dearer  tie?"  suggested 
Sieinhausen,  his  heart  beating  in  an  extraordinary  man 
ner.  "  Your— your  husband " 

>%  This  is  a  subject  on  which  I  cannot— must  not— speak  • 
it  is  quite  forbidden !"  She  spoke  with  much  agitation,  and 
Jetting  her  work -case  fall,  stooped  to  pick  up  the  contents. 

"I  dare  not  infringe  your  order,  gnadigo  Frau,"  said 
Sfeinhausen,  with  pro  found  respect,  while  he  built  up  a  lit 
tle  mental  historiette  of  an  unhappy  marriage,  a  separation, 
a  possible  divorce,  and  deriving  an  odd  sort  of  satisfaction 
from  the  idea.  "Your  words  suggest  strange,  painful 
ideas.  Prussian  foe  though  I  be,  nnct  rugged,  perhaps,  by 
nature,  there  is  something  in  your  voice,  your  eyes,  your 
whole-  being,  that  touches  a  rarely-awakened  chord  of  feel 
ing  in  my  innermost  soul,  that  compels  me  with  a  force  I 
cannot  resist." 

Herr  Rittmeisteiy '  said  the  cheery,  kindly  voice  of  tho 
Gerichtsamtinann,  "  I  am  but  this  moment  free;  will  yo~j 
not  join  your  comrades  and  myself  on  the  veranda  ?  Let 
us  do  our  best  to  heal  old  wounds,  and  drink  to  the  prosper 
ity  of  the  great  *Deutscher  Vaterland.'"  He  waved  hia 
hand  toward  Burchardt  and  Von  Planitz,  who  might  ba 
ceeu  very  comfortably  seated  by  the  table  above  men 
tioned. 

"Well  said,  my  good  sir,"  returned  the  Rittmeister, 
heartily;  "yours  is  true  patriotism."  He  looked  at  Lies 
as  he  spoke;  she  courtesied  slightly,  and  walked  toward 
th-e  door. 

tr'teinhausen  moved  quickly  and  opened  it  for  her,  and, 
while  the  active  little  magistrate  was  occupied  in  turning 
down  the  lamp,  whispered:  "May  I  never  hope  to  have 
the  mystery  which  interests,  distracts  me,  solved  ?" 

li  Perhaps,"  was  the  reply,  with  a  sweet  smile  and  dow~ 
cast  eyes.     i(  Some  day— when  I  am  presented  at  Berlin," 
arxl  she  parsed  away  down  the  corridor. 

' '  Does  the  Heir  Rittmeister  play  whist  ?"  asked  Herr 
Gaermg,  who  had  rummaged  out  and  was  dexterously 
e^uraiBg  a  pack  of  cards. 

'*  Yes,  it  is  a  good  game,"  he  replied,  mechanically, while 
i^e  repeated  to  himself,  '  Berlin !  then  probably  the  husband 
if  Prussian?  That  may  account  for  her  hatred  of  us.  Bui 
»i\  ha  has  a  Saxon  uniform." 


JTJJD,     WIFE,    OR    WIDOW  f 


CHAPTER  IV. 

LOKG  and  profound  repose  effected  little  toward  blunting1 
the  keen  edge  of  the  Rittmeister's  curiosity  and  interest. 
After  the  first  moments  of  waking,  with"  their  puzzled 
wonder  as  to  where  he  was  and  how  he  got  there,  he  sprung 
lip,  alert,  and  eager  to  get  through  his  duties  and  resume 
his  investigations. 

The  rigid  and  punctual  Karl  presented  himself,  with 
an  unmistakable  expression  of  importance  on  his  wooden 
faco,  but  Steinhauseii  nearly  finished  dressing  in  silence. 
At  last,  after  answering  some  trivial  question,  lie  found  an 
opportunity  of  displaying  his  zeal  and  intelligence. 

•'Ach  Gott!  Herr  Rittmeister.  Folks  here  are  short- 
spoken  and  gruff;  they  have  no  manners  at  all.  So  soon 
as  the  gnadiger  Herr  had  to  supper  gone,  I  went  to  the 
kitchen,  and  says  I  to  the  cook,  'You  have  a  good  kindly 
Herrschaften  here,  and  a  beautiful  house,  and  excellent 
eating.  It  is  heavenly  to  bide  here  after  the  hardships 
yonder.'  I  thought  it  best  to  speak  the  'alte  Hexe '  fair  " 
— here  he  delivered  such  a  rusty  wink  (if  such  an  expression 
be  permitted)  at  his  master,  that  Steiiihausen  thought  he 
would  never  recover  "eyes  right"  again.  "With  that, 
Frau  Kochon  gave  a  sort  of  a  grunt  and  says,  *  That  I  be 
lieve;  and  I  wish  our  own  poor  fellows  were  having  the 
good  of  it  instead  of  you.' '' 

Well,  "began  Steiiihausen,  intending  to  stop  the  flow  of 
his  eloquence;  but  it  was  not  every  day  that  the  string  of 
Karl's  tongue  was  loosed,  and,  besides,  he  thought  his  mas 
ter  was  only  eager  for  more  information. 

"Hit  Erla.ubniss,  Herr  Rittmeister,"  he  went  on.  "I 
then  eaid  how  4  schon '  the  young  Frauleins  were,  and 
asked  if  the  eldest  was  not  married,  but  not  a  word  did 
she  answer— no  more  than  if  she  were  stone  deaf— just 
looking  as  sour  nnd  yellow  as  the  '  Gurken. '  she  was  lay 
ing  in  a  dish.  Presently  she  dropped  a  big  spoon,  so  with 
much  politeness  I  picked  it  up  for  her;  then  she  did  grunt 
out . '  Dauke. '  I  says  *  Bitte  sehr,'  and  thinking  I  had 
made  her  a  trifle  more  friendly,  asked  very  pleasantly, 
'"What  did  you  say  the  young  lady's  husband's  name 
,  was?' thinking  to  lead  her  on;  but  no!  she  turned  round 
sharp,  quite  vicious  like,  as"  if  she  would  spit  at  me ;  and 
says  she,  'I  never  said  nothing  about  it!  What  is  it  to 
you  or  your  master  either  who  she  is  or  how  she  is  called? 
IShe  wouldn't  take  any  notice  of  a  Prussian,  were  he  even  a 
prince  in  your  greedy  country ;'  and  with  that  she  hit  ma 
a  rap  on  the  side  of  the  head  with  the  very  spoon  I  had 
picked  up  for  the  old  Hexe,  and  what  more  could " 


MAID,     WIFE,    OR    WIDOW t  87 

"True,  true,"  cried  Steinhausen,  laughing.  "I  think 
you  have  acted  with  amazing  tact ;  but  Karl " 

44  Ay,  Herr  Rittrneister— I  can " 

11  Yon  can  do  nothing  more,  Schafskopf,"  said  his  maa- 
ter,  impatiently.  "  I  do  not  care  for  further  information; 
let  the  matter  drop.  After  all,  it  is  nothing  to  us  who  and 
\vhat  these  Saxon  churls  are." 

"  But,  Herr  Rittmeister " 

44  Silence !    My  sword,  and  then  bring  me  coffee !" 

Sorely  disappointed  at  the  result  of  nis  severe  and  un 
wonted  mental  exertion,  Karl,  after  a  moment's  hesitation* 
disappeared. 

Some  totally  new  spring  of  feeling  made  the  idea  of  a 
common  man's  coarse  inquiries  concerning  Lies  insupport 
able  to  Steinhausen.  There  was  something  indeserioable 
about  this  Saxon  girl  or  woman,  the  sort  of  magic 

"'Which  warns  the  touch  while  winning  the  sense, 
Nor  charms  us  least  when  it  most  repels.'' 

However,  Steinhausen  was  no  boy  yielding  to  the  fores  of  a 
first  passion;  he  was  quite  capable  of  putting  aside  the 
fcudden  potent  whim  which  had  seized  him,  and  throwing 
himself  heartily  into  his  morning  task  of  inspection,  tho 
ordinary  duty  of  regimental  parade,  as  if  no  such  fascinat 
ing  creature  existed.  But,  these  duties  over,  he  galloped 
back  to  the  villa,  on  fire  with  impatience,  to  renew  the 
conversation  of  the  previous  night,  which  had  possessed 
such  a  tantalizing  charm,  and  in  which  he  flattered  him 
self  he  had,  after  all,  made  not  so  bad  an  impression  on 
his  sweet  antagonist. 

He  stopped,  after  dismounting,  to  permit  the  well-trained 
Karl  to  brush  the  dust  of  his  early  demarch  from  his  gar- 

*  ments,  and  permit  his  junior  officers  to  join  him. 

I  They  found  4'Fruhstuck"  laid  in  the  veranda.  The 
I  meal,  which  corresponds  with  our  luncheon,  was  plenti- 
1  fully  set  forth— cold  partridge,  fruit,  omelettes,  coffee,  and 
'',  gome  long-necked,  tempting  bottles;  beside  the  table  eat 

•  Fran  Ghering   knitting,  and  at  the  further  end  of  the  ve 
randa  stood  Clarchen,  playing  4'  cup  and  ball "  with  much 
dexterity. 

A  quiet  "  Good-day"  from  the  lady  of  the  house,  pro 
found  bows  from  the  Prussian  officers,  and  the  latter  seat 
ed  themselves  at  table,  while  Clarchen  came  forward  with.. 
shy  pleasure,  yet  visible  reluctance,  the  result  of  mingled 
joy  in  the  unusual  excitement  of  such  visitors,  and  patriot  to 
resentment  at  having  to  entertain  them.  After  the  kindly 
old  German  fashion,  she  assisted  Daisy  to  wait  upon  tho 
guests,  and  even  forgot  herself  so  far  as  to  make  sprightly 
rejoinders  to  the  young  Fahnrich  and  Burchardt.  Bufc 


38  3d  AID,    WIFE,    OR    WIDOW! 

there  was  no  sign  of  Lies.  Indeed,  Burchardt  had  asked 
Prau  Ghering  politely  for  her  "Fraulein  Toehter,"  and 
was  answered  that  she  was  "  quite  well,  but  always  busy." 
At  last  the  excessive  demands  of  Falmrich  upon  the  0gar- 
basin  exhausted  the  supply,  seeing  which,  Frau  Gheriasr 
told  Clarchen  to  fetch  some  more.  "I  will  go  to  Lies  for 
the  key-basket,"  she  replied,  and  peeping  into  the  sa?yn, 
exclaimed:  "Ah!  she  is  there;  Lies,  Lies!"  Whereupon 
Bteinhausen's  eyes  were  at  last  rejoiced  and  satisfied  by 
the  object  they  longed  for.  As  she  stepped  into  the  ve 
randa  in  answer  to  her  sisters  call,  the  Rittmeister's  doubts 
as  to  her  being  married  or  single  became  almost  certainty. 
She  looked  so  deliciously  matronly  in  a  black  and  wMte 
morning  wrapper,  and  a  small,  delicately  white  muslin 
cap,  with  black  ribbons,  a  lace  cravat  tied  round  her  neck, 
and  fastened  with  a  miniature  brooch,  tho  miniature  of 
that  commonplace-looking  fellow  whose  portrait  disfigured 
the  Rittmeister's  room.  The  guests  rose  and  greeted  her 
with  deferential  bows,  which  she  accepted  with  a  pretty, 
gentl©  stateliness  that  went  well  with  her  air  and  costume ; 
but  Steinhausen  noticed,  as  she  turned  to  speak  to  her  mo 
ther,  that  on  one  side  of  her  cap  was  pinned  a  small  green 
and  white  rosette. 

"Apiece  of  silent  defiance,"  thought  Steinhausen;  but 
he  only  uttered  a  polite  "Good-morning,"  and  drew  for 
ward  a  chair  near  to  his  own.  She  acknowledged  his  civil 
ity  with  a  'slight  courtesy,  and  selecting  a  bunch  of  keys 
from  the  numbers  in  her  basket,  gave  them  to  her  sister, 
who  disappeared  with  an  air  of  great  importance. 

"May  I  offer  the  'gnadige  Frau'  some  coffee  ?"  asked 
Lieutenant  Burchardt.  Frau  Ghering  looked  up  quickly 
at  the  speaker. 

"  I  thank  you,"  returned  Lies,  "I  breakfasted  an  hcu.c 
ago.  I  hope  you  have  all  you  require,  gentlemen  ?" 

"  All  that  we  require,  certainly,  and  more  than  we  de 
serve,"  said  the  Rittmeister,  smiling.  "  Will  you  not  give 
•us  the  pleasure  of  your  company  at  the  table  ?" 

44 1  regret  that  it  is  my  business  hour,  she  replied,  "  aui 
my  work  is  not  yet  half  accomplished." 

Clarchen  here  returned  with  the  replenished  sugar- 
basin,  and,  setting  it  on  the  table,  restored  the  keys  to 
tkflir  proper  place. 

"  May  I  ask  for  a  piece  ?"  asked  Steiuhausen. 

With  a  natural  impulse  Lies  dipped  her  pretty  fingers 
into  the  basin  (of  course,  there  were  no  sugar-tongs),  &xid 
dropped  a  "Stuckchen"  into  the  Kittmeister's  cup,  their 
eyed  meeting.  She  smiled  archly,  and  said,  in  a  low  tone : 
"  To  sweeten  last  night's  acidity  1"  This  delicate  touch  of 
coquetry  surprised  and  delighted  Steinhausen,  opening  up 


MAID,     WIFE,    OR    WIDOW?  23 

to.lkim  possibilities  —  say  of  amusement  —  which  sent  a  mo 
mentary  thrill  along  his  veins. 

*  '  Better  such  *  bitter  sweet'  than  unalloyed  syrup  from 

oCher  hands,"  returned  Steinhausen,  gallantly;  but  Lies 

had  turned  away  already  and  re-entered  the  action,  and 

breakfast  progressed  to  a  happy  termination,  unbroken  by 

other  visitors.    Steinhausen  rose  with  some  satisfaction; 

st  an  indefinable  impression  grow  upon  him  that  this  charm- 

'*  ing  Saxon  girl—  maid,  wife,  or  widow,  whatever  she  might 

3  be  —  was  not  indisposed  to  play  with  the  impression  she 

i  was  too  observant  not  to  perceive  she  had  made  upon  her 

|  admirer.    Steinhausen,   without  any  positive  intentions, 

p  resolved  that  the  game  should  not  be  all  play—  of  course 

II  he  Tvas  too  old  a  bird  to  be  easily  caught  —  and  marriage  — 

®  we'jl,  if  he  ever  thought  of  marriage,  it  would  be  in  the 

sepse  of  an  alliance.    Love,  passion,  fancy—  he  had  learnt 

to  consider  these  emotions  as  a  passing  madness,  which 

must  not  interfere  with  a  man's  career  ;  but  Lies  (he  would 

think  of  her  only  as  Lies,  that  implied  no  marriage  or  en 

tanglement),  there  was  some  wonderful  attraction  about 

her,  apeeuliar  frank  sweetness,  that,  had  he  been  familiar 

with  English  poets,  would  have  tempted  him  to  quote  : 

"  Sure  something  holy  lodges  in  that  breast." 

Not  since  his  early  fiery  boyish  days  had  merged  into 
skeptical  manhood  had  he  received  quite  the  same  impres 
sion.  Yet  he  tried  to  laugh  at  himself  for  his  unusual  lit 
of  sentimentality,  and  as  lie  stood  thus  resisting  his  own 
thoughts  and  lighting  his  cigar,  up  the  veranda  steps, 
alert,  fresh  and  neat,  from  his  gray  curly  head  to  his  well  - 
blacked  stout  boots,  came  Herr  Amtmann,  with  a  cheerful 
greeting,  and  even  a  fainter  effort  than  the  night  before  at 
%  distance  and  dignity.  To  have  people  under  his  roof,  to 
feed  them  with  the  milk  and  honey  of  the  best  viands  and 
his  choicest  wines,  was  enough  to  endear  them  to  the 
kindly,  generous,  simple  heart  of  Herr  Ghering.  Nothing 
was  too  good  for  those  that  wanted  anything,  and  even 
from  enemies  forced  upon  his  hospitality  he  could  hardly 
wnbhold  the  tide  of  friendliness  so  -ready  to  flow  toward 
whoever  had  eaten  of  his  "bread  and  salt."  While  the 
best  and  amplest  return  friend  or  foe  could  make  was  to 
pr&ise  his  house  and  grounds,  in  which  he  took  great  pride 
—a  pride  displayed  with  the  most  unaffected  and  childlike 
caudor. 
3  1  was  an  ignorance  of  this  foible,  and  in  all  sincerity, 


that  the  RJttmeister,  after  the  first  greetings,  began  to 
praise  the  beaut    of  the  view  and  the  admirable 
the  garden. 


>raise  the  beauty  of  the  view  and  the  admirable  order  of 
he  garden. 
£*.-   *  suppose,  Herr  Amtmann,  you  have  a  clover  Voigt 


*0  MAID.    WIFE,    OR    WIDOW* 

(bailift).  The  duties  of  your  office  must  leave  you  but  littls 
time  for  personal  supervision." 

"  3a|  Gewiss!"  cried  Herr  Ghering,  rubbing  his  hands, 
v,-i;h  a  chuckle  of  intense  satisfaction.  "  I  have  indeed  a 
clever  Voigt.  My  eldest  daughter  manages  everything— 
everything.  It  is  wonderful,  remarkable— so  young  and 
yet  such  an  organizer. 

11  Indeed,  most  remarkable,""  ejaculated  Steinhausen,  anx 
ious  to  lead  Jiim  on. 

"Yes,  the  cows,  the  planting,  the  reaping  even,"  with 
impressive  emphasis ;  ' '  the  cheese — she  manages  all.  It  is 
much— a  little  too  much  for  one  so  young,  and— but  Herr 


"I 

.  for  I 

have  a  Rittergut  in  Slesian,  where  they  mismanage  mat 
ters  terribly." 

"  Ha!  that  is  bad— very  bad  indeed,"  cried  the  host,  full 
of  interest;  "  if,  after  dinner,  Herr  Rittmeister  would  like 
to  walk  through  our  fields,  and  look  at  the  barns,  I  am 

eure  Lisabet  would,  th.it  is "correcting  himself,  "she 

has  her  prejudices,  poor  thing,  which  are  not  to  be  won 
dered  at;  but  I.  gnadiger  Herr,  I  will  myself  show  you 
over  my  small  domains,  and  then  you  can  judge— you  can 
judge." 

Steinhausen  listened  intently.  Why  were  her  prejudices 
not  to  be  wondered  at?  Why  did  this  provoking  little 
simpleton  stop  short?  How  was  he  (Steinhausen)  to  lead 
him  back  to  the  prejudices  of  the  adorable  Lies?  So  ha 
said,  with  chivalrous  politeness,  4C  If  your  charming  Frau 
daughter  has  these  strong  feelings  against  us  unhappy 
Prussians,  it  must  be  very  painful  to  her  to  receive  and 
entertain  us,  and  that  creates  a  sense  of  pain  in  the  recipi 
ents  of  your  bounteous  hospitality." 

.Instead  of  listening  to  and  correcting  any  error  in  the 
appellation  of  the  lady  under  discussion,  the  energetic 
little  judge  was  eagerly  rooting  up  an  intrusive  weed  which 
had  reared  its  green  head  between  the  red  tiles  of  the 
veranda,  and  only  caught  the  last  words.  **  You  make  too 
much  of  our  poor  efforts,  and,  believe  me,  we  are  not  so 
blinded  by  national  prejudices  as  to  undervalue  brave 
eoldicrs  who  only  do  their  duty,  and " 

Here  Burchardt,  who  had  been  lighting  an  obdurate 
cigar,  interrupted  Herr  Amtmann  by  asking  Steinhausen 
if  be  was  aware  that  their  friend  Von  Wolf  was  at  Pirna, 
obliged  to  remain  behind  his  regiment,  as  he  was  ill  with 
Saver,  from  a  wound  ho  considered  too  slight  to  report  ? 

*;  No,"  said  the  Rittineister,  "i  had  not  heard  ci  mm* 


SI  AID,     WIFE,    OR    WIDOW  f  91 

These  over- heroic  young  soldiers  are  rather  troublesome, 
from  their  want  of  precaution." 

"  Planitz  and  I  thought  of  riding  over  to  see  him.  As 
you  intend  resting  here  to  day,  will  you  come  with  us  2" 

"Thank  you,  no,"  returned  Steinhausen,  shortly.  "I 
had  enough  riding  yesterday  and  shall  be  in  the  saddle  all 
to-morrow." 

"  While  to-day  you  have  an  Eel  en  and  an  Eve,"  rejoined 
the  Lieutenant,  laughing— a  jest  for  which  his  superior 
officer  would  have  liked  to  give  him  three  days'  arrest  on 
bread  and  water.  He  prudently,  however,  turned  a  deaf 
ear  to  the  insinuation,  and  the  kind  host  immediately  pro 
ceeded  to  give  the  two  young  officers  elaborate  directions  as 
to  a  short  and  shady  route  whereby  they  could  reach  the 
town  where  their  friend  lay.  During  the  explanation  the 
Bittmeister  stalked,  with  a  stern  and  dignified  air,  into 
the  salon,  and  once  more  took  up  the  family  album,  deter 
mined  to  try  the  photograph  trick  on  the  little  judge,  who 
would,  he  felt  certain,  join  him  as  soon  as  the  others  were 
gone.  In  a  few  minutes  he  heard  Von  Planitz  and  Bur- 
chardt  bid  their  host  good-bye,  and  rattle  down  the  steps 
to  the  garden  on  their  way  to  the  stables,  and  the  next 
minute  Herr  Ghering  came  to  his  side. 

' '  Ah !  Herr  Rittmeister  has  found  out  our  picture-gal 
lery,"  he  said,  with  much  complaisance,  and  proceeded 
gleefully  to  point  out  his  wife  and  a  couple  of  brothers,  evi 
dently  old  soldiers  and  much  decorated.  Then  he  paused 
at  the  likeness  of  a  sweet,  dreamy-looking  child,  and  the 
kindly  voice  trembled  as  he  said  it  was  his  first-born,  who 
had  been  taken  from  them  in  early  childhood.  Then  he 
brightened  up  again  when  the  next  page  was  turned  and 
he  was  able  to  expatiate  on  the  manifold  virtues  and  ac 
quirements  of  his  only  son ;  and  then  came  the  object  of 
Steinhausen's  curiosity,  the  pages  on  one  of  which  was 
the  commonplace-looking  officer  and  the  indifferent  photo 
graph  of  Lies,  and,  opposite,  another  and  a  very  superior 
carte  of  the  same  lady,  with  a  likeness  of  Clarchen  and  the 
little  boy. 

"And  these?"  asked  the  Rittmeister,  with  just  the  right 
degree  of  polite  interest. 

"You  will  recognize  some,"  returned  Herr  Ghering. 
"This  is  my  eldest  daughter,"  he  continued,  with  a  sigh, 
"but  not  a  good  photograph.  It  does  not  do  her  justice." 
Another  sigh.  ' '  And  this — this  is  my  son-in-law,  poor 
fellow !  It  is  altogether  a  sad  story,  and  one  not  to  be  in 
truded  on " 

"My  father!"  cried  Clarchen,  running  in  at  this  critical 
juncture,  "the  Herr  Richter  is  here,  and  says  some 


82  MAID,    WIFE,    OR    WIDOW? 

vagrants  have  been  thieving  in  the  village.  He  wishes  to 
make  a  deposition  before  employing  the  Polizei." 

"  Now,  it  is  too  bad."  exclaimed  the  judge,  hastily  shut 
ting  up  the  photograph  book.  "  I  have  taken  euda  pains 
•with  the  people  under  my  jurisdiction,  that  Bergfeld  has 
hitherto  been  especially  noted  for  the  absence  of  crime,  for 
the  intelligence  and  good  conduct  of  the  people— and  now ! 
You  will  excuse  me,  Herr  Bittmeister.  At  dinner  we  shall 
meet— Auf  wiedersehen ;"  and  the  little  judge  hurried  a  way 
with  sharp.,  quick  steps,  and  corresponding  nods  of  his  gr ay 
curls." 

Left  alone  with  the  Rittmeister,  Clarchen  crossed  her 
hands  behind  her  and  looked  at  him  quietly,  with  an  ex 
pression  of  mingled  fun  and  defiance.  He  felt,  he  know- 
not  why,  that  she  was  specially  inimical  to  him;  neverthe 
less,  he  attempted  to  get  a  little  more  information  from  her, 
though,  indeed,  his  doubts  were  nearly  solved  by  Herr 
Ghering's  remarks. 

44  Come,  liebes  Fraulein,"  he  said,  drawing  a  comfortable 
chair  and  seating  himself  at  the  table,  "  come  and  tell  me 
all  about  the  family  photographs." 

Clarchen  shook  her  head.  *'  I  cannot  stay;  I  have  quail- 
ties  to  do;  for  Lies  is  out,  and  has  left  me  her  keys." " 

"Out!"  cried  Steinhausen,  with  irrepressible  vexation. 
"  Where  has  she  gone  ?" 

Clarchen  stared  and  smiled.  "Oh,  up  the  hill  to  the 
Oberbergfelder.  Frau  Streich's  little  boy  is  ill,  so  she  seat 
lor  my  sister." 

u  Your  sister  appears  to  be  a  general  benefactress." 

"  She  is  good,"  returned  Clarchen,  gravely,  and  turned  to 
go. 

4 'One  moment," cried  Steinhausen.  " What  is  to  be 
come  of  me  ?  I  have  nothing  to  do — nothing  to  read.  My 
comrades  have  ridden  off  without  me." 

"Why  did  you  let  them  go,  then  ?"  laughed  Clarchen. 
"  There  are  books,"  pointing  to  the  well-niled  table;  "  then, 
there  are  some  wonderful  gardens,  like  Versailles,  they 
say,  not  far  off,  and  you  might  catch  the  Herr  Lieutenant 
if  you  like— they  had  only  just  ridden  out  of  the  Hof  f*s  I 
came  in.  So  adieu,  Herr  Bittmeister,"  arid  with  a  saucy 
courtesy  she  walked  quickly  out  of  the  room. 

"  Impertinent  little  puss,"  thought  Steinhausen,  looking 
after  her.  "  It  is  too  absurd,  the  prejudices  of  these  peo 
ple."  He  paused  in  momentary  hesitation,  then,  catching 
a  glimpse  of  trim  little  Daisy  clearing  away  the  remains  or 
breakfast,  he  called  her  into  the  salon. 

"Whereabouts  are  these  wonderful  gardens  of  jours  8'* 
he  asked. 

"  Oh!  the  Schloas  gardens'," 


MAID,    WIFE,    OR    WIDOWf  83 

{'*Yes,  I  suppose  so." 

"ThegnacugerHerr  must  go  up  the  hill  right  through 
the  village  to  Qberbergfelder,  and  leave  the  Gasthof  zum 
Schwarzen  Bar  to  the  right,  keep  on  across  the  fields  till 
you  come  to  a  little  house  in  a  clump  of  fir  trees,  and  there 
they  will  direct  you/' 

""Thanks,"  interrupted  the  Rittmeister.  "  Oberberg- 
f elder.  I  have  no  doubt  I  shall  find  the  place."  Daisy 
dropped  a  courtesy  and  retreated,  while  Steinhausen,  re- 
mci n"bering  Clarchen'a  account  of  her  sister's  errand,  took 
up  his  cap  rind  started  forth  on  the  sunny,  dusty  road  in 
search  of  the  will-o'-the-wisp  mystery,  the  attraction  of 
•which  he  could  not  resist. 

The  distance  to  the  Oberbergfelder  was  not  great,  but  on 
tho  way  the  luttmeister  met  and  spoke  with  several  of  his 
troopers;  he  also  paused  more  than  once  to  look  behind 
him  fit  the  villa  and  its  sheltering  lindens,  so  that  a  good 
deal  of  time  was  consumed  before  he  reached  the  little 
hamlet.  Yet  the  only  specimen  of  womankind  whom  ha 
encountered  was  an  aged,  bent,  and  bare-legged  crone, 
with  a  huge  basket  ou  her  back,  who  bid  him  "Guten  Tag" 
mechanically.  Reaching  the  few  cottages  which  consti 
tuted  the  Dorf,  the  road  divided,  or,  rather,  a  cart-track 
diverged  to  the  light,  and  the  road  kept  away  left  across 
some  cpen  grass-land,  flat  and  unbroken,  to  the  clump  of 
fir-trees  indicated  by  Daisy.  The  Rittmeister  hesitated. 
It  was  improbable  that  such  an  accomplished  housewife 
as  the  young  Frau  Lisabet  would  at  this  period  of  the  day 
absent  herself  long ;  but  as  yet  there  was  no  sign  of  her.  To 
be  sure,  she  knew  the  country,  and  had  probably  returned 
by  eome  more  agreeable  route.  True  to  his  Hussar  train 
ing,  Yon  Steinhausen.  looked  about  for  a  "  vantage  post " 
whence  to  study  the  position;  a  stunted,  gnarled  pol'ard 
was  the-  only  object  (save  the  housetops)  at  all  elevated 
above  the  level  of  field  and  road;  the  Kittmeister,  though, 
•no  slender  strippling,  managed  to  climb  up  a  couple  of  feet 
of  tbo  ungainly  knotted  trunk,  and  taking  a  searching 
look  round,  fancied  he  saw  a  whitish,  strange  object;  mov 
ing  toward  a  sudden  steep  declivity,  down  which  the  cart- 
track  led,  and  which  he  had  not  before  perceived. 

A  continuous  eager  gaze  convinced  him  that  this  object 
was  a  certain  drab-white  cotton  sunshade,  lined  with 
green,  which  he  had  noticed  in  an  umbrella-stand  in  the 
entrance  of  Villa  Bellevue.  This  was  clew  enough:  the 
enterprising  Rittmeister  started  at  once  in  pursuit,  and 
when  within  reach  of  his  quarry  slackened  speed  in  order 
to  come  up  alongside  as  iflby  pure  accident.  The  certain 
ty  that  had  grown  upon  him  since  morning  that  Lies  was 
married  and'iii  some,  way,  more  or  less  unfortunate,  sopa- 


84  MAID,     WIFE,    OR    WIDOW? 

I 

j  rated  from  her  husband,  had  changed  the  current  of  Stein- 
liausen's  ideas  considerably.  If  this  charming  girl,  or 
•woman,  was  thus  shackled,  he  must  assume  a  different 
tone,  and  approach  her  on  a  different  footing;  her  bonda 
did  not  render  her  less  facinating,  far  from  it,  but  ho 
might  be  better  understood,  more  appreciated,  than  by  a 
mere  girl ;  yet,  preposterous  as  it  was,  he  was  conscious  of 
a  dim  regret  that  there  was  any  one  before  himself  that 
had  a  better  chance  of  winning — What?  What  arrant 
folly  to  think  seriously  of  such  a  passing  fancy !  What 
did  he  seek?  Only  to  while  away  a  few  hours  of  banish 
ment  in  an  enemy's  country.  So,  with  sound  reason  in 
his  head,  and  a  thrill  of  wild  delight  in  his  heart,  Stein- 
hausen  "  closed  with  the  chase/' 

"Pardon me,  gnadige  Fran,"  he  said,  "can  I  return  to 
the  villa  by  this  road?" 

"  You  can,"  she  replied,  with  a  very  slight  start  and  in- 
crease  of  color;  "  follow  it  to  where  there  is  an  old  cross 
half  sunk  in  the  ground  by  an  oak  tree,  and  you  will  find 
a  foot  path  which  will  lead  you  back  through  the  river 
meadows." 

"  Thanks;  you  seem  to  be  going  in  the  same  direction- 
may  I  not  accompany  you?"  • 

Another  slight  blush,  and  a  very  cold  bow  of  assent; 
they  walked  on  a  few  paces  in  silence,  down  a  narrow  ra 
vine,  in  the  shelter  of  which  was  a  pleasant  growth  of  beech 
and  chestnut  trees,  with  here  and  there  a  tall,  graceful 
larch.  The  shade  was  most  welcome,  and  a  cool  breeze 
from  the  river  fanned  Steinhausen's  hot  brow. 

"  You  see,  I  did  not  ride  away  this  morning,"  began  the 
Rittmeister  at  last.  "I  am  but  too  glad  to  avail  myself  Of 
the  discretion  allowed  me,  and  let  myself  and  my  poor  fol 
lows  enjoy  a  brief  repose  in  your  happy  valley ;  indeed, 
the  difficulty  will  be  to  leave  it." 

"  Life  in  our  happy  valley  is  but  little  suited  to  such  na 
you,"  she  answered;  "even  I  find  it  a  little  monotonous.1' 

' '  I  should  imagine  a  life  so  active  as  yours  would  bo 
free  from  any  feeling  of  dullness." 

"  How  do  you  know  I  am  active  ?"  she  asked,  turning 
to  him  with  a  smile,  as  she  closed  her  sunshade  arid  used  it 
for  a  walking-stick. 

"Oh!  a  very  small  degree  of  observation  would  enable 
one  to  perceive  that  much,  even  if  your  Herr  papa  had  not 
detailed  all  your  business  abilities  to  me  as  he  was  kindly 
showing  me  the  photographs  this " 

"  Did  my  father  show  you  the  photos?"  interrupted  his 
companion,  quickly,  with  an  uneasiness  she  could  not 
quite  repress. 

~  returned  §&&iab&i?$$aft  with  significance,  and 


MAID,     WIFE,    OR    WIDOW  t  55 

looking  full  into  her  eyes.  Lies,  blushing  deeply,  turned 
away  as  if  annoyed,  and  the  Rittmeister,  after  a  instant's 
pause,  continued  in  a  lower  tone,  "  I  must  entreat  pardon 
for  what  may  have  seemed  to  you  indiscreet  curiosity ;  I 
shall  be  more  prudent  in  future,  more  absolutely  obedient 
to  y  our  tacitly-expressed  wish :  hereafter,  perhaps " 

"  Say  110  more — speak  of  something  else,"  she  interrupt 
ed,  hastily,  and  a  silence  of  some  minutes  ensued. 

At  last,  with  a  frank,  pleasant  laugh,  Steinhausen  ex 
claimed,  ' 4  How  difficult  it  is  to  avoid  any  one  forbidden 
subject,  and  when  there  are  two  or  three  a  fellow  does  not 
know  where  to  turn;  I  dare  not  speak  of  war,  or  Prussia, 
or  Saxony,  or  my  own  impressions,  or,  worst  deprivation 
of  all,  your  "—he  paused,  as  if  with  difficulty  suppressing 
some  epithet—"  yourself." 

"If  the  effort  to  find  conversation  is  so  trying,"  said 
Lies,  with  an  arch  smile,  * l  and  it  must  be,  pray  do  not 
punish  yourself;  go  on — I  shall  sit  here  in  the  shade;  and, 
at  least,  you  can  have  the  freedom  of  your  own  thoughts." 

"No,  no!  certainly  not,"  cried  Steinhausen,  eagerly, 
"unless  you  absolutely  object  to  my  company.  Let  me 
^alk  with  you — to-morrow  you  will  be  free  from  the 
presence  of  the  detested  Prussian ;  but  to-day— let  me  en 
joy  to-day,  come  what  will  to-morrow." 

There  was  a  touch  of  passionate  entreaty  in  his  tones 
that,  perhaps,  reached  his  listeners  heart,  for  although  she 
made  no  reply,  she  turned  her  eyes  to  his  with  a  wonder 
ing,  yet  not  unkindly  expression,  and  breathed  a  slight 
sigh  as  her  glance  sank  under  his. 

"  Now, "continued  the  Rittmeister,  " as  I  have  confessed 
*he  poverty  of  ideas,  will  you  not  come  to  my  aid?  the 
frorld  stands  with  you." 

With  a  quick,  arch  nod,  she  said,  "  Have  you  ever  been, 
in  England— that,  surely,  is  safe?" 

Steinhausen  laughed.     "  No,  I  have  not;  have  you?" 

4  When,  may  I  ask?" 

4  About  two  years  ago." 

'Did  you  like  it?"  said  the  Rittmeister,  recovering  his 
07  aanimity  sufficiently  to  light  a  fresh  cigar. 

'*  In  some  ways,  yes;  in  others,  not  at  all." 

*  What  displeased  the  gnadige  Frau  ?" 
She  looked  up  quickly  for  an  instant,  and  replied:  "The 
life  is  somewhat  tiresome;  people  are  always  en  grand 
toilette,  and  the  eating  is  such  a  solemn  undertaking,  and 
so  punctual— no  one  dares  to  be  two  minutes  late;  and, 
although  women  are  freer,  and  seem  to  have  more  power 
than  here,  I  do  riot  think  they  are  really  any  more 
loved  or  respected.  Then  there  is  great  coldness  Detween 


86  MAID,     W&E,    OR    WIDOW  f 

the  servants  and  the  Herrschaften,  and  the  theaters  are 
not  good ;  no  one  goes  out  in  the  evening— in  the  country, 
at  least;  but  the  houses  are  charming,  and  the  gardens; 
the  people,  top,  are  very  friendly  to  those  they  like.  But 
conversation  is  always  difficult  to  a  foreigner,  because,  as 
you  observed  of  forbidden  subjects,  every  topic  that 
touches  religion  is  almost  impossible  for  a  stranger,  from 
the  medisBval  style  of  English  thought— but  in  all  other  * 
things  what  a  practical,  unsentimental  people !" 

She  spoke  with  a  certain  persistence,  as  if  determined  to  I 
keep  the  talk  to  herself,  but  she  came  to  a  halt  at  last. 

"Two  years  ago,"  repeated  the  Rittmeister,  somewhat 
irrelevantly.    His  thoughts,  though  he  had  listened  to  her  j. 
quiet,  pleasant  voice  with  full  attention,  had  yet  been  oc-  I 
cupied  with  the  question:  If,  two  years  ago,  she  was  away  * 
in  England,  when  did  this  unfortunate  marriage  of  hers 
take  place  ?    Surely  not  previously — she  would  have  been 
too  young;  and  if  since,  and  her  husband  was  dead,  she 
could  hardly  yet  have  left  off  her  widow's  mourning ! 

44  Two  years  ago!    Was  it,  then,  a  wedding  journey  ?" 

The  lady  blushed  crimson,  "Herr  Rittmeister  forgets 
his  self-imposed  discretion,"  she  said  coldly;  "  all  personal 
and  offensive  subjects  were  to  be  avoided.'" 

"A  thousand  pardons,"  he  returned,  earnestly,  and, 
thinking  he  saw  her  eyes  full  of  tears,  he  mentally  swore 
at  himself  as  an  unfeeling  brute  for  his  inconsiderate 
curiosity.  "I  will  not  again  offend,  but,"  pressing  his 
hand  on  his  breast,  "if  I  could  lay  my  heart  open  before 
you,  you  would,  perhaps,  find  the  interest  you  choose  to 
term 'idle  curiosity  neither  impertinent  nor  unpardonable.'7 
There  was  force  and  dignity  in  his  gesture,  but  his. com 
panion  made  no  reply,  and  after  walking  a  few  paces  in 
silence,  Steinhausen  asked,  with  a  smile,  "May  I.  be  per-  ft 
mitted  to  say  that  I  much  wish  I  could  inspect  the  Dresden  f 
Gallery." 

"No,"  returned  Lies,  struggling  to  suppress  an  answer-  • 
ing  smile,  "  to  mention  the  few  possessions  left  to  us  de 
feated  Saxons  only  suggests  our  losses  and  your  gains  for 
centuries." 

"  Ah !  I  could  answer  that." 

ftlf  you  will,  but  I  shall  wish  you  good-morning. " 

"  But,  Gnadige,  suppose  I  chose  to  keep  you  company; 
how  would  you  get  rid  of  me?"  he  exclaimed,  a  little  irri- 
tafcecl  by  her  composure. 

"  Cm!  some  things  are  impossible  to  a  gentleman,  s,nd  I 
presume,  Herr  Rittmeister  von  Steinhausen,  of  the  Prus 
sian  army,  is  a  gentleman  ?" 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  Steinhausen,  with  a  laugh  that  sounded 
a  little  hard.  "  But  under  the  gentleman  lies  the  original 


MAID,     WIFE,    OR    WIDOW  f  87 

man,  and  sonic  things,  sweet  Saxon,  try  and  tempt  a  man 
sorely." 

She  glanced  up  at  him  with  a  surprised,  frightened  look 
in  the  large,  earnest  blue  eyes,  that  made  her  companion's 
heart  beat  much  faster  than  was  necessary ;  the  look  was 
momentary,  and  she  said  ver}'  coolly,  "  We  do  not  seem  to 
be  successful  in  avoiding  forbidden  subjects ;  try  another, 
Herr  Rittmeister." 

He  laughed  partly  at  her  remark,  partly  at  his  own  !o7ig- 
ing  to  take  her  in  his  arms  and  deal  out  a  liberal  punisii- 
ment  in  kisses,  and  the  idea  of  her  indignation  could  she 
have  divined  his  thoughts. 

"Well,  then,  what  shall  it  be?  Oh!  Italy;  have  yen 
ever  traveled  in  Italy  ?" 

"No-  have  you  ?" 

"Yes,  about  three  years  ago;"  and,  anxious  to  recover 
any  ground  he  might  have  lost,  Steinbauseii  spoke  well 
and  pleasantly,  though  always  with  a  tinge  of-  eymeisra, 
of  his  Italian  experiences.  He  found  an  intelligent  ami 
cultivated  listener,  and  the  peace,  or  truce,  between  thom 
was  not  infringed  for  the  remainder  of  their  walk.  Of  ion. 
the  memory  of  that  pleasant  hour  came  back  to  the  liltt- 
meister  in  far  different  scenes — the  little  wooden  ravine, 
debouching  on  the  rich  green,  fields  and  linden  trees  of  the 
riverside;  the  sweet,  soft  air,  the  song  of  a  .soaring  lark, 
the  peaceful,  utter  stillness  around  them,  as  if  they  alone 
inhabited  the  earth,  anew  Adam  and  Eve,  though  Adam 
in  gattering  Hussar  trappings  was  slightly  incongruous; 
the  more  natural  tone  of  his  companion,  whose  guarded 
coldness  sensibly  melted  away  in  the  interest  of  the  conver 
sation.  Then  what  sweet,  long  glances  he  occasionally 
received,  what  pleasant  glimpses  of  a  charmingly  white, 
well-turned  throat  and  pretty  pink  ear  he  caught  when, 
~  -with  half-averted  head  and  downcast  eyes,  she  listened 
|  gravely  to  some  description  or  theory,  which  latter  she 
generally  disputed.  But,  alas!  pleasant  things  never  last; 
and  it  seemed  to  Steinhausen  that  before  he  had  said  half 
he  had  to  say,  or  made  half  enough  of  this  blessed  oppor 
tunity,  they  came  to  a  bifurcation  of  the  path— one  leading 
up-hill  to  the  villa,  the  other  away  to  the  river's  edge. 

"  If  you  follow  this  path,"  said  Frau  or  Fraulein  Lies, 
"you  can  get;  a  very  charming  peep  at  Pillnitz,  our  king's 
summer  palace,  or " 

"  Oh,  by  all  means  let  us  take  the  riverside  in  our  ramble," 
interrupted  the  Rittmeister. 

"  Yvu  can,  if  you  wish  it.  I  must  take  the  shortest  way 
back.  I  have  already  been  too  long  absent." 

Steinhausen's  only  reply  was  to  turn  with  her,  keeping 
close  by  her  side  on  the  homeward  road.  The  conversation 


88  MAID,     WIFE,    OR    WIDOW? 

thus  suddenly  broken  off  he  found  it  unaccountaV,!,? 
cult  to  recommence.  The  consciousness  that  every  step 
•was  bringing  this  delightful  tete- a  tete  to  a  clooe  fevered 
and  embarrassed  him  by  the  eagerness  with  which  ho 
sought  an  excuse  to  prolong  it.  "And  to-morrow,"  he 
exclaimed,  abruptly,  apropos  to  nothing — "to-morrow  I 
must  go." 

"I  suppose  so,'*  said  Lies,  calmly.  "The  previous  de 
tachments  quartered  upon  us  have  only  spent  one  night  at 
Villa  Bellevue." 

44  And,"  added  Steinhausen,  "  you,  no  doubt,  think  that 
long  enough." 

"  I  did  not  say  so,"  was  the  rejoinder. 

"You  said  last  night,"  began  the  Rittmeister,  growing 
desperate  as  they  appoached  the  grounds  of  the  villa— 
"  you  said  that  perhaps  we  might  meet  at  Berlin.  Proba 
bly  the  gnadige  Frau  has  a  deeper  knowledge  of  us  objec 
tionable  Prussians  than  I  at  first  imagined." 

She  turned  her  eyes  full  upon  him — clear,  quiet  eyes. 
"  Your  people  are  the  first  Prussians  I  ever  spoke  to." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "May  I  hope  you  do  not 
vrish  us  to  be  the  last?" 

4 '  Personalities  again,  Herr  Rittmeister !"  she  said,  with 
an  arch  smile.  "  Let  us  finish  our  walk  without  a  breach 
of  conditions." 

"  Some  subjects  attract  like  a  loadstone,"  he  replied;  and 
this  brought  them  to  a  side  entrance  of  the  garden.  They 
were  nearly  across  it  before  she  spoke,  and  it  was  to  say : 
'•I  will  wish  you  good-day  and  *  auf  wiedersehen  '—I  must 
go  to  my  office." 

"  What!    Are  you "  he  began. 

"  I  have  an  apartment — a  little  bureau,  given  to  me — 
•where  I  manage  all  my  business ;  that  is,  matters  concern- 
Ing  my  father's  farm ;  and  there  I  must  remain  till  I  have 
atoned  for  this  morning's  idleness." 

They  had  reached  a  door  opening  on  the  court-yard, 
passing  through  which  she  turned,  bowed,  and,  leaving  the 
liittmeister  planted,  she  ran  lightly  up  the  steps  where  he 
Jhad  first  seen  her,  and,  turning  at  the  top,  bowed  again. 

"Auf  wiedersehn !"  cried  Steinhausen  from  below.  "  We 
shall  meet  at  dinner." 

She  smiled,  and  vanished  through  the  French  window 
which  led  into  her  sanctum. 

Steinhausen  stood  a  minute  looking  after  her,  then  mut 
tering  to  himself,  "Gott!  have  I  lost  my  senses?"  went 
elowiy  into  the  bouse  and  ascended  to  his  own  chamber. 


MAID,     WIFE,    OR    WIDOW  t  39 

CHAPTER  V. 

NEARLY  two  hours  intervened  before  the  midday  repast. 
They  passed  heavily  to  Steinhausen.  He  tried  to  write  up 
his  journal — to  finish  a  letter  begun  the  previous  day ;  he 
strolled  across  to  the  stables  and  round  the  garden,  but  to 
no  purpose;  the  only  members  of  the  family  to  be  seen 
•were  Clarchen,  who  was  too  busy  gathering  greengages  to 
respond  to  his  advances,  and  Fran  Ghering  herself,  who 
was  knitting  on  the  veranda,  and  she  was  as  taciturn  as 
ever. 

1  Burchardt  and  the  Fahnrich  returned  from  their  expedi 
tion  in  high  spirits,  with  various  good  stories  of  their 

!  friend's  adventures  on  the  march  through  Bohemia.  They 
first  bored  their  superior  officer,  and  then  mortally 
offended  him  by  some  indiscreet  questions  and  suggestions 
as  to  how  he  had  passed  the  morning.  They  understood 
the  Rittmeister,  however,  and  readily  dropped  a  subject 
unwelcome  to  their  slightly  overbearing  comrade.  At  last 
they  were  summoned  to  table.  Here  matters  were  scarcely 
improved.  The  Rittmeister  was  placed  on  Frau  Ghering's 
right  hand,  and  Frau  or  Fraulein  Lies  was  seated  between 
her  father  and  that  beer-drinking  brute  Burchardt.  She 
smiled  upon  him,  too,  and  listened  to  him  with  more  frank 
ness  and  favor  than  she  had  yet  shown  any  of  them,  hardly 
bestowing  a  look  or  a  word  upon  Steinhausen ;  indeed,  she 
said  very  little.  Burchardt  and  the  Herr  Amtmann  did 
nearly  all  the  talking.  They  had  got  on  a  most  interest 
ing  and  happily  neutral  topic— the  relative  merits  of  Ger 
man  and  Hungarian  horses.  They  grew  excited,  told 
various  thrilling  anecdotes,  and  supported  their  opinions 
•with  much  strength  of  lung,  if  not  of  logic,  under  cover 

:  of  which  Clarchen  and  the  young  Fahnrich  planned,  in 

•  low  tones,  how  she  was  to  try  a  spare  horse  of  his,  which 

?  he  was  sure  would  carry  a  lady,  if  only  the  Frau  Mutter 

,  would  consent. 

i  This  scheme  was  overheard  by  Steinhausen,  who,  too 
cross  to  talk  himself,  listened  with  keen  attention  to 
what  was  going  011  all  round  him.  The  elder  sister  finally 
caught  some  stray  words,  which  betrayed  the  nefarious 
design. 

" Clarchen,"  she  said,  in  a  low  but  peculiar  tone,  "I 
hoped  your  loyalty  would  have  been  proof  even  against 
pleasure." 

The  little  sister  blushed  crimson,  held  doWn  her  head, 
and  became  suddenly  silent.  The  words  were  meant  for 
her  ear  alone,  but  they  also  reached  those  of  the  watchful 
Bittmeister,  who,  divining  their  import,  with  an  impulse 
of  irritation  laughed  scornfully,  as  he  remarked,  * '  that  the 


40  MAID,     WIFE,    OR    WIDOW  f 

young  Fraulein  had  not  yet  reached  the  age  at  which  prej» 
udice  hardened  into  consistency." 

At  last  the  repast  was  over,  ceremonious  bows  and  muiv 
inured  "  Gesegnete  Mehlzeit "  exchanged.  Lies  slid  quietly 
from  the  room,  and  at  the  same  time  the  Amtmann  seized 
Steinhausen's  arm. 

"Now.  Herr  Rittmeister.  I  am  at  your  service.  We  will 
make  a  little  tour  of  the  '  Gut, '  and  I  will  fully  explain  my 
principles  of  management. 

The  pleasant  little  gentleman,  rubbing  his  hands,  stood, 
his  head  slightly  on  one  side,  bright,  alert,  and  brim* 
ful  of  useful  hints  wherewith  to  enlighten  his  friend  tha 
enemy. 

Irritated  and  disgusted  as  he  was,  Steinhausen  could  not 
help  unbending  to  the  simple,  kindly,  well-bred,  country 
gentleman. 

"You  are  very  friendly,  Herr  Amtmann,"  he  returned, 
graciously.  "  I  hope  I  do  not  trespass  too  much  upon  your 
precious  time." 

"By  no  means— by  na  means!  This  way,  Herr  Ritt- 
meister.  Permit  me  to  direct  you." 

For  nearly  two  hours  did  Steinhausen  perambulate  the 
various  inclosures  of  Herr  Amtmann's  "Gut, "and  enter 
eagerly  into  his  host's  explanations.  The  farm  had,  in 
deed,  every  requisite,  save  water ;  and  this  the  Amtmann 
had  intended  to  supply  by  machinery,  already  purchased, 
and  placed  in  a  small  building  beside  a  deep  well  which 
lay  at  the  foot  of  the  hill ;  but  the  breaking  out  of  the  war, 
and  the  consequent  absorption  of  skilled  laborers  in  the 
army,  had  arrested  the  work,  and  the  good  judge's  outlay 
had  been  hitherto  unproductive .  "A.  sad  loss  to  me,  my 
dear  sir,"  concluded  the  little  man,  "for  it  will  he  some 
time  before  I  bring  matters  into  working  order ;  and  Lies, 
too,  she  feels  it  much — this  delay." 

At  last  the  judge's  exhaustive  exposition  of  his  system, 
his  small  economies  and  larger  outlays,  his  checks  here, 
his  discipline  there,  came  to  an  end.  The  precious  hour  of 
.repose  was  over,  and  Von  Steinhausen  was  pleased  to  think 
it  must  be  time  for  afternoon  coffee — not  that  his  inspec 
tion  of  Herr  Ghering's  farm  was  devoid  of  interest  to  him 
—like  most  Germans  of  his  age  and  standing,  he  looked 
forward  to  the  time  when,  his  soldiering  days  over,  he 
would  turn  for  occupation  and  interest  to  the  pursuits  of  a 
country  gentleman.  Still,  it  was  much  more  agreeable  to 
sit  in  the  shady  veranda,  and  sip  the  fragrant  coffee  hand 
ed  to  him  by  his  fair  antagonist. 

The  two  gentlemen  found  all  the  party,  including  the 
dog  Nero,  assembled  in  this  favorite  resting-place.  Lieu 
tenant  Burchardt  was  chaffing  Clarchen  about  the  pro 


MAID,     WIFE,    OR    WIDOW  f  41 

jected  ride  which  did  not  come  off,  in  which  amusement 
V on  Planitz  assisted ;  the  little  Baehfischchen  was  evidently 
vexed  and  ill  at-ease?  looking  to  her  sister  for  help,  but  the 
latter  was  absorbed  in  the  task  of  pouring  out  and  distribut 
ing  the  coffee,  and  took  no  notice  of  the  mute  appeal. 

Steinhausen  looked  on  in  silence  for  a  few  moments,  until 
he  mastered  the  situation.  "  So  you  did  not  accomplish 
your  excursion,  Fraulein  Clara,"  he  said  at  last,  slowly 
Stirring  his  cup  of  coffee.  "The  Frau  sister  would  not 
permit  such  tampering  with  the  foe,  eh!  mein  Fraulein? 
she  would  not  like  to  train  the  little  one  in  the  way  she 
should  go— nicht  wahr,  meine  Gnadige?" 

"I  would  not  teach  anything  save  loyalty, "re turned  the 
$lder  sister,  gravely,  offering  the  speaker  a  plate  of  biscuits 
'—which  Nero,  by  a  sudden  importunate  movement,  nearly 


"Ah!  loyalty;  it  is  a  noble  quality,"  said  Steinhausen, 
Absently.  He  had  started  from  his  seat  to  assist  in  saving 
the  biscuits,  and  in  so  doing  inadvertently  caught  the  soft 
white  hand  he  had  just  been  admiring  in  his  own:  the 
touch  was  electric — lor  an  instant  his  thoughts  were  in  a 
whirl— the  next,  he  began  to  hope  that,  perhaps,  the  orders 
which  he  was  to  await  at  Bergf  elder  would  not  como  till 
to-morrow  evening,  and  so  he  might  have  more  time — for 
•what?  he  scarce  knew  himself!  He  began  to  tell  Lies  of 
his  walk  through  the  farm  with  her  father.  She  said  little 
—having  taken  up  a  piece  of  elaborate  embroidery,  on. 
-•which  her  eyes  were  fixed.  Suddenly  the  old  servant, 
Hans,  presented  himself.  "An  orderly  wishes  to  speak  to 
Herr  Kittmeister, " 

"Oh!  bring  him  in,  bring  him  in,''1  cried  the  master  of 
the  house,  who  was  in  the  highest  good-humor  after  the 
delightful  occupation  of  the  afternoon. 

"  Through  the  garden,  Hans,"  said  the  young  directress 
Of  the  house,  quietly,  but  emphatically.  Von  Steinhausen 
'turned  his  eyes  on  her,  and  their  expression  of  mingled  re 
sentment  and  reproach  showed  her  that  he  thought  she 
shrank  from  permitting  their  salon  to  be  polluted  by  the 
presence  of  a  Prussian  trooper  soldier;  this  was  not  what 
she  meant,  and  feeling  it  was  not  possible  to  explain,  an 
inexplicable  sensation  of  annoyance  brought  the"  color  to 
her  cheek  in  a  quick  flitting  flush,  which  did  not  escape 
Steinhausen's  observation,  even  while  he  seemed  qnTy  t-p 
see  the  dusty  travel-stained  trooper  who  iio\v  ascciideel  tha 
steps,  and,  saluting,  handed  a  dispatch  to  tho  Bittraeisr 
ter. 

Steinhausen  took  it,  broke  the  seal,  and  opening  if, 
glanced  at  the  contents,  a  look  of  fierce  discontent  darken," 


42  MAID,    WIFE,    OR    WIDOW  f 

ing  his  brow  as  he  read ;  then,  crushing  it  somewhat  in  his 
hand,  said  to  his  brother  officers : 

4  *  We  march  early  to-morrow,  gentlemen.  "We  must  be 
in  Dresden  by  noon."  Then,  to  the  soldier:  "  You  can  go. 
I  have  no  further  orders." 

"Hans,  take  him  to  the  kitchen;  give  him  food  and 
drink,"  said  kindly  Frau  Ghering. 

"March  to-morrow!"  cried  Burchardt.  "G-ott!  that  iff 
a  misfortune  1  One  would  like  to  rest  a  month  long  in  such  a 
heavenly  house  as  yours,  gnadige  Frau." 

"And  no  chance  for  a  ride  now,  lieber  Fraulein,"  saidt 
the  Fahnrich  to  Clarchen.  ^ 

* '  Does  any  other  party  succeed  to  yours  ?"  asked  Lies. 

"Ach!  lam  sorry,"  exclaimed  the  hospitable  Gerichts- 
amtmann.  "  We  shall  not  soon  find  gentlemen  so  court 
eous  and  accommodating  as  yourselves ;"  to  which  civility 
Burchardt  made  a  suitable  reply,  and  some  talk  ensued, 
unheeded  by  Steinhausen,  who  was  sunk  in  profoundest 
silence. 

This  order  shattered  his  half-formed  plans :  it  forced  him 
to  turn  his  back  on  the  first  morsel  of  real,  vivid  interest  and 
delight  that  he  had  tasted  for  years,  to  forego  the  elucida 
tion  of  the  mystery  which  tantalized  and  attracted  him. 
It  seemed  a  lifetime  since  the  same  fierce  eagerness  had 
thrilled  his  nerves,  and  it  came  back  to  him  like  renewed 
youth.  A  question  from  the  judge  broke  the  spell  and 
compelled  his  attention. 

1  Pardon  me !    I  did  not  hear." 

14 1  merely  asked  if  the  view  from  the  balcony  above  an 
swers  your  expectations,  Herr  Rittmeister  ?" 

"What  view?"  asked  Steinhausen,  quickly.  "  I  have 
not  yet  had  a  chance  of  seeing  it." 

"  Why,  Lies,"  cried  her  father,  impatiently,  "why  did 
you  neglect  my  request  ?  Now,  perhaps,  the  Rittmeister 
may  leave  without  seeing  the  best  view  from  the  villa  or 
from  anywhere  else  in  the  neighborhood.  Please  conduct 
him  at  once  to  the  upper  balcony.  I  would  gladly  accom 
pany  you;  but  letters  I  have  neglected  this  afternoon 
must  be  written,  and — pray  do  not  miss  this  fine  sun 
set." 

Lies  rose  silently,  hesitated  an  instant,  and  then,  bowing 
to  Steinhausen,  Jed  the  way  through  the  salon  to  a  stair 
case  ascending  to  the  first  floor.  Here  the  Prussian  officer 
exclaimed,  "I  believe  it  would  only  be  polite  in  me  to  re 
lieve  you  from  the  performance  of  a  task  so  evidently  un 
welcome  ;  but— I  should  like  to  see  the  view  of  which  your- 
father  spoke." 

"  It  is  no  unwelcome  task  to  show  you  the  beauties  of  a 
land  so  little  esteemed  by  your  countrymen."  . 


MAID,     WIFE,    OR    WIDOWf  43 

' ,    "  Little  esteemed !    Why  do  you  say  so?" 
K  "  That  is  of  no  consequence.    Pray  follow  mo,  and  con 
fess  that  Saxony  at  least  has  beauty  of  which  you  cannot 
deprive  her." 

She  smiled  as  she  spoke  with  something  of  jest  and 
earnest,  preceding  him  up-stairs  and  through  another 
salon  which  Steinhausen  had  not  yet  seen. 

The  long  French  windows  of  this  apartment  opened  on  a 
balcony  which  ran  along  the  north  side  of  the  house,  and, 
•  passing  through  one  of  them,  Lies  leant  against  the  balus- 
|  trade,  and  with  a  silent  but  expressive  gesture  stretched 
|  out  her  hand  toward  the  wide  landscape,  and  then  let  it 
t  slowly  fall  to  her  side. 

I  Pre-occupied  as  Steinhausen  was  by  his  eagerness  to  im 
prove  this  probably  last  tete-a-tete  with  the  object  of  his 
admiration,  he  was  for  a  few  seconds  riveted  by  the  un 
usual  beauty  of  the  view  before  him,  Below  rolled  the 
broad  silver  "* '  silent  highway  "  of  the  Elbe.  A  wide-spread 
ing  plain  to  the  left  was  sprinkled  with  villages,  each  clus 
tering  round  church  or  tower ;  and  far  away  the  domes 
and  steeples  of  the  capital  were  dimly  discernible.  At  the 
other  side  of  the  river  the  banks  stretched  more  or  less 
steepily  up  to  the  forest  heights,  which  again  led  up  to  the 
Bohemian  mountains ;  and  to  the  right,  like  isolated  giants, 
stood  the  rocky  masses  of  the  Sillenstein,  and  the  royal,  for 
tress-crowned  Konigstein,  all  steeped  in  the  golden  haze 
of  a  glowing  autumnal  sunset,  all  sleeping  in  a  stillness  so 
profound  as  almost  to  be  felt. 

Steinhausen  looked  at  the  fair  scene  in  silence,  and  the 
grave  expression  of   his  companion's  face  deepened  and 
softened  into  sadness.    She  leant  her  elbows  on  the  para 
pet,  and  rested  her  cheek  on  her  clasped  hands.     At  length 
f.  a  low  sigh,  unconsciously  breathed,  struck  on  the  Ritt- 
|  meisters  ear.    He  turned  his  dark,  stern  eyes  upon  the 
|  figure  beside  him. 

"To-morrow,"  he  began,  in  a  softer  tone  than  usual,  and 
*.  paused— "to-morrow,  then,  I  leave  Bergfelder,  and  per- 
I  haps  may  never  again  behold  its  loveliness."  (Hers  or 
|  that  of  the  scenery?)  "Tell  me,  now  that  I  am  a  moment 
?  alone  with  you,  why  you  hate  me  and  all  Prussians. 
There  is  much  I  want  to  ask  you ;  but  this  first." 

"  I  do  not  hate  you ;  why  should  I  hate  an  unoffending 
stranger?  Your  nation!  Well,  I  do  not  love  it." 

"Why?*'  asked  Steinhausen;  receiving  no  answer,  he 
repeated/  'Why?" 

"  Surely,"  cried  Lies,  quickly,  raising  her  head  and  look 
ing  full  at  him,  "  you  can  answer  that  question  yourself! 
Herr  von  Steinhausen  is  sufficiently  well  read  to  be  able  to 
the  historical  facts  of  a  century  past— from  the  old 


44  MAID,    WIFE,    OR    WIDOW  f 

Brandenburg  days  and  the  Seven  Years'  war,  down  to  the 
present  unhappy  struggle,  Prussian  policy  has  always  been 
the  same,  aggression  and  annexation !" 

Steinhauseii  laughed.  ' *  What  can  you  expect?"  he  said ; 
"  ours  is  no  saintly  sphere  of  impossible  virtue,  but  a  world 
of  ordinary  humanity,  where  might  makes  indefeasible 
right !" 

"  It  is  a  robber's  maxim,"  said  Lies,  haughtily,  and  turn 
ing,  stepped  back  into  the  salon. 

Steinhausen  followed  sharply,  placing  himself  between 
hr-r  and  the  door;  Lies  stopped  in  surprise. 

4 'Is  that  all?  Have  you  no  more  to  advance  against 
us?" 

"I  have,  perhaps,  already  said  too  much,  considering 
what  hospitality  demands,"  she  replied. 

' ;  Hospitality !  rneine  Gnadige,"  exclaimed  theRittmeister, 
•with  a  provoking  laugh,  "  do  you  not  mistake  the  position? 
We  are  not  here  by  invitation,  but  in  obedience  to  our  gen 
eral^  order — as  victors !  It  is  true  we  have  [been  well  re 
ceived  and  entertained,  but  had  it  been  otherwise,  we  should 
have  taken  all  we  required  and  more;  as  conquerors  we  are 
masters— at  least,  for  the  present." 

Lies  looked  at  him  astonished,  as  if  she  could  not,  at 
once,  quite  comprehend  the  brutality  of  this  speech ;  then, 
the  sensitive  lips  began  to  quiver,  and  in  spite  of  her  proud 
carriage,  the  large  blue  eyes  were  suddenly  suffused  with 

indignant  tears.  "  Let  me  pass,"  she  said,  "  you  are " 

she  stopped ;  Steinhausen  finished  the  sentence  for  her—"  a 
rude  barbarian !"  and  he  placed  himself  resolutely  against 
the  door. 

"  Yes !  you  are  so  earnest  yourself  that  you  take  my  half 
jest  seriously ;  will  you  believe  my  whole  earnest  ?"  he 
went  on  eagerly,  hurried  by  an  impulse  he  felt  was  utter 
folly,  yet  which  he  could  not  resist.  "  I  cannot,  and  trill 
not,  leave  you  without  some  explanation— some  solution  of 
the  doubts  which  are  so  maddening!  Do  you  not  see  you 
have  cast  a  spell  upon  me?  Short  as  the  time  is,  resent  the 
avowal  as  you  may,  I  must  and  will  tell  you  that  I  love 
you— love  you  intensely."  He  tried  to  take  her  hand. 

4 '  On  twenty-four  hours'  acquaintance !"  she  replied,  with 
good-humored  mockery,  although  she  turned  very  pale 
and  looked  anxiously  at  the  door. 

41  You  dare  not  scorn  the  feeling  you  have  evoked,"  ex 
claimed  Steinhausen,  quickly ;  then,  seeing  the  alarm  that 
would  speak  in  her  eyes  in  spite  of  her  efforts  to  seem 
coldly  calm,  "Lieber  Gott,"  he  continued,  "you  do  not 
fear  me!  Sweetest!  best!  I  love  you,  I  would  not  disturb 
or  distress  you  for  worlds ;  if — if  you  are  free,  do  not  re 
ject  me  1  Nay,  let  me  hold  your  hand  one  moment,  '*  reso- 


MAID,     WIFE,    OR    WIDOWf  45 

lutely  catching  and  kissing  it;  "and  if—  as  from  what  I 
can  gather  may  be  the  case  —  you  are  unhappily  linked  to 
one  who  cannot  appreciate  the  treasure  fortune  has  given 
him,  let  me  atone  for  the  past!  the  bonds  must  be  strong 
indeed  if  love  and  daring  such  as  mine  cannot  break  them: 
tell  me  truly,  are  you  free  ?" 

'  *  I  am  not,  Herr  Eittmeister,  "  said  Lies,  greatly  disturbed, 
"  and  even  if  I  were  —  this  is  madness!" 

"There  is,  perhaps,  a  tinge  of  madness  in  it,"  returned 
Steinhausen,  still  holding  her  hand;  "but  there  is  truth 
and  reality  in  it  also,"  he  urged,  growing  more  eager  as  sho 
shrank  from  his  advances.  "I  must  tear  myself  away  to 
morrow  ;  but  let  me  write  to  you  !  Leave  me  some  straw 
to  cling  to;  I  cannot  lose  you—  I  -  " 

"Herr  Kittmeister,"  interrupted  Lies,  collecting  herself, 
and  at  last  releasing  her  hand,  "I  cannot  listen  to  such 
folly  ;  if  you  think  for  an  instant,  you  must  see  there  is 
almost  insult  in  such  an  abrupt  avowal.  I  cannot  imagine 
what  has  suggested  such  ideas  as  to  my  position  ;  surely 
my  father  has  not  been  so  imprudent  as  to  —  but,"  inter 
rupting  herself,  "even  if  you  were  not  an  utter  stranger  — 
an  enemy  —  a  man  of  whom  I  feel  a  sort  of  slight  fear  —  I 
must  not,  dare  not,  listen  to  your  words.  Let  me  pass,  and 
I  will  try  and  forget  all  this." 

Her  words  recalled  Steinhausen  to  a  sense  of  his  own 
conduct.  He  saw  he  had  indeed  overstepped  the  limits  of 
good-breeding,  but  the  check  made  him  all  the  more  earnest. 
"  Yes,"  he  said,  in  a  low  tone,  "  I  suppose  I  must  seem  in 
sane  to  a  calm,  womanly  woman  like  yourself;  yet  the 
feelings  you  have  roused  are  not  unworthy  of  your  accept 
ance.  Surely  you  can  imagine  a  nature  different  from  your 
own—more  eager,  more  impassioned,  yet  not  less  true. 
My  better  self  craves  for  you.  How  can  I  convince  you  ?" 

"  It  is  useless  to  pursue  this  argument,"  again  interrupted 
Lies,  her  heart  beating  visibly  under  her  muslin  dress,  and 
pressing  her  hands  together  in  an  attitude  of  entreaty,  "  it 
is  only  painful  and  distressing.  Even  if  I  were  inclined  to 
listen  to  you,  it  would  but  add  to  my  difficulties.  I  "  — 
breaking  off  and  resuming  quickly—"  I  cannot  believe  a 
eudden  whim  can  cause  any  real  grief,  though  there  is 
truth  in  your  voice.  I  am  sorry,  very,  very  sorry,  to  cause 
you  a  moment's  pain  ;  but  "  —  smiling  while  the  large  tears 
hung  on  her  eyelashes—"  I  have  no  doubt  some  good  and 
fair  Prussian  will  be  all  to  you  that  I  must  not  be."  She 
held  out  her  hand  to  him,  and  then  snatching  it  back,  as  if 
she  had  yielded  too  much,  pressed  her  handkerchief  to  her 
eyes,  now  brimming  over.  "  Let  me  go,"  she  said,  entreat- 


iBgm 
"  1 


must;  it  is  all  over,"  returned  Steinhausen,  gloomily, 


46  MAID,     WIFE,    OR    WIDOW? 

as  he  stepped  {iside.  "Yet,  no;  I  will  not  renounce  the 
hope  of  seeing  you  again— of  ascertaining  what  barrier 
stands  between  me  and  happiness."  But  Lies  made  no 
reply,  and  hurried  away,  more  moved  than  she  would  have 
liked  to  own. 

The  evening  was  dull  enough.  Frau  Ghering  apologized 
for  her  daughter's  absence.  "She  had  a  bad  headache," 
she  said,  "  and  was  unable  to  leave  her  room — the  result, 
probably  of  walking  too  much  in  the  fierce  sunshine." 

Again  conversation  was  mainly  kept  up  by  the  judge  and 
Burchardt,  while  Steinhausen,  in  the  blackest  of  moods, 
inwardly  cursed  his  own  folly,  first  in  permiting  himselt 
to  be  overpowered  by  so  sudden  a  passion,  and  then  for  his 
mad,  useless  avowal,  while  he  could  only  hope  that  some  t 
fresh  fancy  might  soon  drive  the  present  keen  disappoint-:  1 
menti  out  of  his  head  or  heart,  or  both. 

*******         r 

Next  morning  did  not  fulfill  the  promise  of  the  line  sun« 
set ;  lowering  clouds  and  drizzling  rain  had  changed  the 
face  of  nature  into  accordance  with  Yon  Steinhausen's 
mood.  His  brother  officers  openly  avowed  their  regret  at 
haying  to  leave  such  pleasant  quarters,  and  proved  their 
enjoyment  of  a  good  breakfast  by  prolonging  that  meal  till 
the  trumpet  summoned  them  to  "  mount  and  ride."  The 
young  Fahnrich  did  not  fail  to  "annex"  Clarchen's  photo 
graph  ;  but,  with  more  than  ordinary  Prussian  honesty, 
left  his  own  in  its  place. 

The  eldest  daughter  was  not  well  enough  yet  to  appear 
at  breakfast ;  but  just  as  the  Hussars  were  ready  to  set 
forth,  she  came  out  on  the  steps  before  her  own  apartment 
to  bid  them  a  courteous  adieu.  Burchardt  and  Von  Planitz 
bowed  from  the  saddle ;  Steinhausen  pressed  his  spur  till 
his  horse  was  close  enough  to  the  steps  where  Lies  stood. 
"Your  hand, "he  said,  in  a  low  tone,  "your  hand  once 
more."  She  hesitated  an  instant,  and  then  placed  hers  in  , 
his.  "Au  revoir,"  said  Steinhausen;  "it  is  not  adieu,,  { 
remember."  And  then,  with  a  friendly  salute  to  the  rest 
of  the  party,  he  rode  quickly  after  the  others,  who  had 
already  passed  the  gate. 

As  they  descended  the  hill,  Burchardt  and  Planitz  chat 
ted  merrily,  pleased  at  the  idea  of  being  quartered  at  Dres 
den,  "though,"  added  the  latter,  "we  will  not  soon  find 
Letter  quarters  than  the  Villa  Bellevue.  And  that  Clarchen ! 
she  is  a  little  darling.  Do  you  know,  Rittmeister,  I  think: 
she  will  be  prettier  than  her  sister,"  continued  the  youth 
ful  Hussar,  with  an  air  of  mature  experience. 

Steinhausen  muttered  some  unintelligible  reply,  tke  tono 
Cfl  rv  iiich  was  anything  but  amiable. 


MAID,    WIFE,    OR    WIDOW  t  47 

*'  Hare  you  discovered  if  the  fair  Lies  is  married  or  sin 
gle?"  asked  Burchardt,  unadvisedly.  "You  were  a  long 
time  inspecting  that  fine  view  from  the  balcony  last  even 
ing." 

"  I  know  nothing  more  than  you  do,"  replied  Steinhau- 
Ben,  curtly.  "  It  would  be  a  bad  return  for  such  kind  hos 
pitality  to  intrude  an.  idle  curiosity  on  our  hosts." 

"Ay,  to  be  sure.  Still,  I  am  not  a  little  curious.  There,17 
he  continued,  quickly,  "  as  good  luck  will  have  it,  there  is 
the  Dorfschulze  with  whom  we  spoke  yesterday.  He  will 
know  all  about  the  family.  Good-day,  Herr  Schulze !  If 
you  see  the  Herr  Amtmann,  give  him  a  warm  greeting 
from  us;  and  tell  me  now — you  have  known  the  family 
long,  I  suppose?" 

"  Ja  wohl,  mein  Herr,"  from  the  bottom  of  his  chest. 
Steinhatisen  apparently  occupied  in  pulling  up  his  stirrup- 
leather,  listened  eagerly. 

"  Is  the  eldest  daughter  married  ?': 

"The  eldest  daughter?"  repeated  the  old  man,  who 
seemed  not  over  bright.  "Ja,  gewiss!  (certainly) — the 
poor  child!  She  was  married  to  her  cousin,  the  Haupt- 
mann— Herr  Hauptmann  Ghering." 

"Come  on!"  cried  Steinhausen,  fiercely.  "  Why  stand 
in  the  rain  to  hear  the  maunderings  of  that  stupefied 
blockhead  ?" 

"Married!  I  cannot  understand  it,"  said  Burchardt, 
pressing  his  horse  to  come  up  with  his  comrades.  "  I  do 
not  believe  the  old  fellow  knows  what  he  is  talking  about. " 

"Understand!  No,"  laughed  the  Fahnrich.  "I  fancy 
the  Fates  are  against  our  ever  solving  the  question  whether 
our  charming  host  is  maid,  wife,  or  widow." 

"Fate  or  no  fate,  I  will  find  out  the  truth  yet,"  said 
Steinhausen  to  himself. 

Quickening  their  pace,  the  officers  galloped  on  to  over 
take  the  squadron,  and  Villa  Bellevue.  with  its  mystery 
and  its  charms,  was  among  the  things  or  the  past. 


PART  II. 

CHAPTER  I. 

IT  was  Sylvester-abend  of  that  terrible  winter  when  the 
great  German  army  lay  before  Paris,  and  the  Ice  King 
sent  his  blinding  snow  and  crippling  frost  to  besiegers  and 
besieged  alike. 

Away  in  North  Germany  the  irresistible  monarch  had 
spread  his  white  mantle  over  field  arid  forest  and  n 


»  MAID,    WIFE,    OR    WIDOW  f 

ain,  and  the  snow  lay  deep  in  the  narrow,  roughly  paved 
streets  of  a  small  country  town  on  the  frontier  of  Saxony, 
kindly  softening  the  noise  of  vehicles  and  the  tramp  or 
horses  to  the  suffering  patients  of  the  Lazaret,  which  had, 
since  the  war,  been  established  in  a  large  open  space  be 
yond  where  the  walls  once  stood,  pure  and  unadulterated, 
from  the  Riesengebirgo.  Bernstadt  had  once  been  an  im 
portant  border  fortress,  but  its  walls  had  been  long  since 
leveled,  and  its  present  status,  though  not  insignificant, 
was  now  only  due  to  its  position  as  the  center  of  a  riclL 
agricultural  district  and  a  linen-manufacturing  population. 

The  first  consignment  of  wounded,  after  the  earlier  con 
flicts  of  Weissenburg  and  Woerth,  had  nearly  all  recovered 
and  dispersed — those  fit  for  active  service  to  rejoin  their 
respective  regiments.  Even  of  the  second  batch  after 
Sedan  not  many  were  left ;  and,  of  these,  all  sufficiently 
convalescent  to  be  permitted  such  dissipation  were  assem 
bled  at  the  house  of  Herr  Gerhardt  Werner,  the  Wealthy 
Burgomeister  of  Bernstadt,  who  on  this  New  YearVeve 
held  high  festivity  in  his  fine  old  mansion  in  the  market 
place,  which,  with  its  wide  staircase,  all  paneled  and  carved 
with  wreaths  of  flowers,  its  large,  well-proportioned  rooms 
and  wide  landings,  was  especially  suited  for  entertain 
ments. 

From  almost  every  house  lights  streamed  out  over  the 
mow  and  sparkled  on  the  frosted  trees.  Music  and  song- 
and  laughter  thrilled  through  the  keen  air,  while  countless 
jfetars  looked  down  over  all  from  a  deep  steel-blue  sky,  in- 
tensified  by  bright  moonlight. 

The  country  had  begun  to  breathe  after  the  tremendous 
Strain  and  triumph  of  the  last  six  months,  and  though 
^aiany  a  sad  heart  wept  for  the  loved  and  lost,  the  general 
tone  was  joyous  and  exulting. 

Two  officers,  wrapped  in.  their  large  cloaks,  walked 
briskly  from  the  gates  of  the  Lazaret  past  the  Lyceum  and 
the  line  of  trees,  where  the  ramparts  once  stood,  toward 
the  winding,  narrow  streets  which  led  to  the  market 
place.  ! 

4 'What  a  glorious  night!"  exclaimed  the  tallest  of  the 
two.  "The air,  too,  is  life-giving.  I  feel  'myself  again 
to-night  for  the  first  time  since  that  Turco's  cursed  saber 
laid  me  low.  I  may  report  myself  fit  for  service  again  in 
a  week  or  two." 

"Well,  I  feel  rather  shaky  still,"  replied  the  other,  who- 
was  considerably  shorter  aiid  stouter.  "A  fever  ssich  as 
mine  takes  more  out  of  a  fellow  than  the  bullet  that  caused 
it.  But  I  am  wonderfully  stronger  since  I  came  up  here, 
and  all  the  better  for  meeting  my  old  comrade.  When 
you  left  us  after  our  Bohemian  campaign,  and  retired  to 


MAID,     WIFE,    OR    WIDOW f  .          4$ 

the  paternal  acres,  I  thought  I  had  lost  sight  of  you  alto* 
gether.  But  such  a  call  to  arms  as  ours  would  have  roused 
a  German  bear,  if  there  was  one  left,  even  from  his  winter1 
sleep." 

"Yes,"  said  his  companion,  "  I  had  become  almost  brok> 
en-in  to  the  half  dead-and-alive  life  and  the  loneliness  of  a 
remote  Schloss  like  mine,  when  the  call  came  and  set  my 
blood  aflame.  My  only  regret  was  that  I  could  not  join 
my  old  regiment." 

"It  has  been  a  fight  of  giants  this  time,"  resumed  the 
second  speaker,  after  a  short  pause,  as  they  turned  in  to  the 
shadow  of  a  small  street,  crunching  the  crisp  snow  be 
neath  their  even  tread.  "  Why,  our  Bohemian  experience 
•was  child's  play  to  this;  and  yet " 

"How  well  those  Saxons  fight!"  interrupted  the  other, 
speaking  more  to  himself  than  his  companion.  "Then 
and  now.  And  their  prince — he  is  a  fine  fellow." 

"  He  is.  Ach,  mein  Gott!  how  it  all  comes  back,  Stein- 
hausen.  Our  hot,  dusty  march  through  the  Bohemian  hills, 
and  then  our  rest  at  that  delightful  Saxon  villa.  I  always 
remember  it  as  the  most  perfect  house  in  the  world. 
What  was  the  name  of  the  people?" 

"  Ghering,"  returned  Steinhausen. 

"  Ay,  Ghering.  I  wonder,  now,  was  that  pretty  daugh 
ter  married  or  not.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  them  again?" 

*'  Never!"  was  the  somewhat  emphatic  answer,  "  though 
I  tried  to  get  some  tidings.  After  the  regiment  left  Saxony 
I  was  called  away  by  business  to  Pomerania,  and  then  to 
"Vienna.  About  six  months  after  we  had  bid  good-bye 
to  Villa  Bellevue  I  wrote  to  the  excellent  Herr  Amtmann, 
but  be  never  took  any  notice  of  my  communication. 
Then  various  matters  occupied  me,  and  the  sharp  outlines 
of -my  first  impression  faded.  About  a  year  and  a  halt 
later  I  was  in  Dresden,  and  made  a  pilgrimage  to  the  villa, 
"but  they  were  all  gone;  the  garden  was  a  neglected  wilder 
ness,  and  a  gang  of  workmen  were  pulling  the  house  to 
pieces  to  enlarge  it.  No  one  could  tell  me  what  had  become 
of  the  family.  They  had  left  a  year  before,  and  were  much 
regretted,  especially  the  'Gnadige,'  who  was  married, 
according  to  one  old  crone,  and  single,  according  to  anoth 
er.  I  had  not  heart  to  ask  much  or  stay  long.  That  is  all 
I  have  ever  heard." 

"Little  enough," said  the  other  (our  former  acquainance, 
Burchardt).  "  I  think  I  have  heard  of  a  young  lieutenant 
Ghering,  who  distinguished  himself  at  St.  Privat— a  Saxon 
officer." 

"  Some  relation,  probably,"  said  Steinhausen;  and  they 
walked  on  in  silence  for  some  minutes,  till,  turning  into  the 
iB&rket-place,  they  found  themselves  before  the  open  door 


CO  MAID,    WIFE,    OR    WIDOW  9 

of  the  Burgomeister's  house,  from  which  a  long  stream  of 
light  fell  upon  the  snow,  and  even  on  the  quaint  carvings 
of  the  opposite  houses. 

"The  worthy  Burgomeister  is  holding  high  revels,"  said 
Burchardt,  laughing,  as  he  looked  up  at  a  row  of  windows 
over  the  entrance,  against  the  blinds  of  which  the  strong 
light  within  threw  the  varied  shadows  of  the  guests  as  they 
moved  to  and  fro.  "We  convalescents  must  be  prudent, 
for  they  say  his  wine  is  of  the  rarest,  and  his  hospitality 
most  pressing." 

So  saying,  both  officers  stepped  into  the  hall,  and  were 
immediately  assisted  by  deferential  servants  to  remove 
their  cloaks,  and  ushered  into  a  handsome  dining-room, 
•where  the  Burgomeister  and  his  wife  received  their  guests, 
and  which  opened  into  a  spacious  salon  beyond,  where 
dancing  had  already  begun  with  much  spirit. 

The  new  arrivals  were  greeted  with  great  cordiality  and 
respect.  Numerous  introductions,  which  always  in  Ger 
many  are  the  opening  ceremony  of  any  social  meeting,  fol 
lowed.  On  the  invitation  of  the  host,  the  officers  laid  aside 
their  swords  and  helmets;  but  reluctantly  declined,  in 
obedience  to  the  doctor's  injunctions,  to  join  the  dancers. 

"  Then,"  said  the  host,  a  jovial,  portly  man,  with  curly 
fair  hair  and  red  mustache,  * '  perhaps  the  Herr  Major  and 
you,  Herr  Rittmeister,  would  like  to  go  up-stairs  to  the 
card-room?  You  will  find  some  of  your  friends  there. 
Allow  me." 

And  as  Steinhausen  and  Burchardt  bowed  their  assent, 
he  passed  on  and  led  them  up-stairs  to  a  suite  of  rooms, 
some  of  which  were  evidently  bed-chambers,  decorated  fe-r 
the  occasion.  More  introductions  and  bowings,  friendly 
recognitions  and  congratulations.  At  last  the  attentive 
host  arranged  a  whist-table  for  his  honored  guests. 

"You  have  a  large  assemblage  to-night,"  said  Stein 
hausen,  as  they  waited  for  the  fourth  of  their  party,  who 
had  been  arrested  on  his  way  to  the  card- table  by  a  lady 
of  large  proportions  and  pretensions,  with  whom  he 
exchanged  many  deferential  salutations.  "I  see,  no  doubt, 
all  the  rank  and  beauty  of  Bernstadt." 

"Ja,  gewiss!"  replied  the  Burgomeister,  rubbing  his 
hands  with  much  satisfaction,  "and  many  families  from 
the  neighborhood  also.  We  have  Saxons,  Prussians,  Bohe 
mians,  and  a  few  Russians  present  this  t^vening.  You  see, 
H<  rr  Major,  Bernstadt  is  in  a  corner,  and  has  three  differ 
ent  nationalities  close  by.  I  must  present  some  of  the  most 
distinguished  to  you,  mein  Herr,  before  we  light  up  the 
Christbaum  after  supper;  but  here  is  Herr  Doctor.  1  will 
keep  you  no  longer  from  your  game, "and,  on  hospitable 
thoughts  intent,  he  turned  away. 


MAID,     WIFE,    OR    WIDOW  f  61 

The  wfc:€$&  party  were  soon  occupied  with  their  game, 
but  not  so  absorbingly  as  to  prevent  a  good  deal  or  talk 
between  the  deals  and*  rubbers.  The  first  game  was  nearly 
over ;  Steinhausen  had  just  sorted  his  cards,  when,  raising 
his  eyes,  they  fell  upon  a  gentleman,  in  civil  attire  cer 
tainly,  but  unmistakably  a  soldier  from  his  bearing, 
standing  in  the  doorway  opposite.  While  Steinhausen. 
looked,  he  turned  and  walked  across  the  room,  and  the 
major  perceive^  that  his  right  coat-sleeve  was  empty  from 
below  where  the  elbow  ought  to  have  been.  The  face— a 
broad,  strong,  sensible  countenance,  with  honest-looking 
brown  eyes,  seemed  quite  familiar  to  Steinhausen.  An 
other  moment^  thought,  and  the  water-color  portrait  which 
had  interested  him  so  painfully  during  his  short  but  mem 
orable  stay  at  Villa  Bellevue,  came  back  distinctly  to  his 
mind's  eye.  Yes!  it  was  the  original  of  that  well -remem 
bered -picture  who  had  just  passed :  if  so,  where  then  was 
his  wife  or  fiancee  $  Von  Steinhausen  felt  as  if  there  had 
been  no  cessation  in  his  interest  and  curiosity  since  he 
had  spurred  his  horse  in  bitter  impatience,  and  with  a 
sense  of  defeat,  away  from  the  sleepy  little  village  of 
Eergfelder,  so  vividly  did  the  old  feelings  spring  again 
into  being  at  this  unexpected  rencontre.  His  first  impulse 
was  to  call  Burchardt's  attention  to  this  one-armed 
stranger;  but  he  recollected  in  time  that  probably  his 
comrade  had  never  seen  or  noticed  the  picture.  "  Pray, 
Herr  Doctor,"  he  said,  turning  slightly  in  his  chair,  "  who 
is  the  gentleman  who  has  just  passed?  I  think  I  know 
his  face." 

"Which?"  said  the  doctor,  throwing  down  the  ace  of 
hearts  with  a  triumphant  thump. 

"  Oh,  a  man  that  has  lost  his  arm;  there  he  is,  talking 
to  a  lady  with  the  Tower  of  Babel  in  curls  on  her  head." 

"Oh,  that  man!  No!  I  don't  know  him;  he  is  a 
stranger;  the  Burgomeister  has  a  mixed  gathering  to 
night.  He  must  come  from  a  distance;  he  is  no  Bern- 
stadter." 

Von  Steinhausen  forced  himself  to  give  his  full  attention 
to  the  game.  Time  enough  to  hunt  up  the  stranger  after 
ward.  No  one  would  leave  till  after  midnight,  and  the 
first  greetings  of  the  new  year.  But  though  Steinhausen 
played  well,  and  won  the  game,  his  fancy  teemed  with 
images  of  the  past  and  conjectures  of  the  future.  Was  he 
really  to  meet  the  Saxon  heroine  who  had  so  charmed 
him,  as  the  wife  of  another?  And,  if  so,  how  would  she 
receive  him?  Looking  back  after  the  lapse  of  a  few  years, 
and  in  the  coolness  of  retrospection,  he  confessed  to  him 
self  that  the  fiery  impulse  ne  had  permitted  to  master 
him  must  have  seemed  a  little  like  insanity  to  the  object 


52  MAID,     WIFE,    OR    WIDOW  f 

of  his  adoration.  Still  his  heart  beat  quickly  as  he  rose 
from  the  table  the  winner  of  nearly  a  thaler  (stakes  were 
not  high  in  Bernstadt),  and  looked  round  for  some  one  to 
question. 

The  gentleman  who  had  roused  these  memories  had  dis 
appeared.  "  Burchardt,"  said  Major  von  Steinhausen,  "I 
wish  you  would  try  to  find  out  who  it  is  that  is  minus  his 
arm,  though  a  civilian.  I  fancy  he  is  connected  with  our 
Bergf  elder  friends." 

"Is  it  possible!"  cried  Barchardt,  with  much  animation, 
*  *  How !  Why  do  you  think  so  ?" 

"I  will  tell  you  after,"  returned  his  friend.  *'  Come,  let 
us  have  a  look  at  the  dancers." 

He  caught  a  glimpse  of  himself  as  he  spoke  in  a  long 
glass,  and  thought,  "My  fair  foe  must  have  a  good  mem 
ory  if  she  recognizes  me,"  for  the  reflection  given  back  was 
of  a  tall  figure,  considerable  thinner,  paler,  more  gaunt- 
looking  than  of  old,  with  a  thick  black  beard  covering  the 
lower  part  of  his  face. 

The  ball-room  was  now  quite  full,  and  the  company  there 
in  assembled  was  whirling  and  ^floating  to  the  sound  of  the 
•"Blue  Danube"  waltz,  and  for  a  few  minutes  Burchardt 
and  Steinhausen  looked  on ;  then  the  former  moved  away 
to  speak  to  some  acquaintance,  and  Von  Steinhausen,  sunk 
In  deep  thought,  saw  the  forms  of  the  dancers  as  if  in  a 
dream.  Suddenly  the  Burgomeister  spoke  to  him. 

"They  keep  it  up  gayly,  Herr  Major,"  he  said.  "I 
think  we  have  a  good  show  of  beauty.  I  wish  you  could 
.join  them.  The  fairest  maiden  of  them  all  would  be 
pleased  to  have  one  of  the  heroes  of  Sedan  for  a  cavalier." 

"  That  pleasure  is  impossible  for  me,  Herr  Burgomeis- 
ter,"  returned  Steinhausen,  gravel  v.  "  But  tell  me  who  is 
the  gentleman  I  observed  up  stairs,  a  soldierly-looking 
man,  though  in  civil  dress,  who  has  lost  an  arm?" 

' '  Oh !  that  is  a  Saxon  neighbor  of  ours — a  relation  of  my 
wife's— Herr  Hauptmann  Ghering ;  he  is  here  with  his  wife 
and  sister,  I  think,  a  young  lady  who  is  on  a  visit  with 
them." 

"Indeed." 

"  Yes,  both  handsome  women.  They' are  dancing  now. 
There,  that  is  Frau  Ghering  just  passing  with  the  Forst- 
inspector." 

Two  ladies,  each  with  a  partner  in  the  green  forester's 
uniform,  waltzed  round  at  that  moment,  and  Steinhausen's 
doubts  were  at  last  thoroughly  set  at  rest.  He  would  have 
known  the  pliant,  rounded  figure,  the  graceful  turn  of  the 
head,  the  simple  coiffure,  anywhere. 

Her  dress,  too,  was  almost  unchanged.  The  same  de 
scription  of  soft,  white  muslin,  a  little  more  gauzy 


MAID,    WIFE,    OR    WIDOWt  If 

what  ehe  wore  at  Bergfelder,  only  the  black  ribbons  were 
gone,  and  others,  of  a  bright  but  delicate  blue,  fluttered  in 
their  stead.  Von  Steinhausen  did  not  think  the  sight  of 
her  would  have  sent  so  keen  a  thrill  of  pleasure  and  of  pain 
through  his  heart.  So  he  had  found  her  again,  only  to  find 
her  lost  to  him !  He  fixed  his  eyes  upon  her  unobserved, 
and  studied  with  intense  interest  the  expression  of  her 
face.  It  was  more  pensive  than  before— almost  sad,  but 
very  genfcle;  and  the  s~vyeet,  clear,  truthful  eyes,  what  a 
yearning  depth  in  their  liquid  blue !  She  had  paused,  and 
stood  with  her  partner  opposite  Steinhausen,  when  Haupt- 
mann  Ghering  came  up,  and,  bending  close,  whispered 
some  familiarly  confidential  communication,  at  which  she 
looked  up  with  a  sudden  bright  smile,  and  nodded  as 
though  they  perfectly  understood  each  other.  This  was 
jnore^than  Steinhausen  could  stand,  and,  the  tired  musi 
cians  ceasing  their  strains,  he  followed  the  dancers,  who 
began  to  stream  into  the  next  room,  and  even  into  the 
entrance-hall ;  but  his  eyes,  in  spite  of  himself,  still  singled 
out  the  attractive  figure  with  unspeakable  envy.  Had  he 
found  her  free,  still  to  be  won,  he  would  probably  have 
been  considerably  less  moved  by  her  presence.  Other 
motives  might  have  held  him  back  from  grasping  what  he 
now  so  passionately  desired.  That  quiet,  commonplace 
Hauptmaim !  on  him  he  would  like  to  wreak  his  vengeance. 
He  it  was  who  had  robbed  him  of  a  possible  heaven;  for, 
with  the  ingenuity  common  to  such  a  frame  of  mind,  he 
now  decided  that  Lies  had  only  been  ' k  engaged"  and  reluc 
tantly  engaged,  when  he  had  met  her  more  than  four  years 
before.  If  this  detestable  cousin  had  not  stood  in  the  way, 
what  might  not  have  happened  ? 

Steinhausen  left  out  or  the  reckoning  his  subsequent 
occupation,  the  not  unnatural  fading  of  his  first  impression, 
and  consequent  slackness  in  following  up  the  pursuit ;  but 
now — now  that  she  was  out  of  his  reach — he  felt  ready  to 
break  every  law  that  kept  her  from  him.  In  this  mood  he 
found  himself — by  the  gradual  dispersion  of  the  dancers  as 
they  formed  fresh  engagements,  and  returned  to  the  largo 
salon — beside  a  group  who  were  talking  gayly  in  the  door 
way  leading  into  the  dining-room.  It  consisted  of  the 
Burgomeisterin,  resplendent  in  deep  red  satin  and  rich 
white  lace ;  the  detestable  Hauptmann  Ghering ;  Lies  her 
self  ;  and  another,  a  rather  pretty,  dark-eyed  little  woman, 
in  black  velvet.  They  did  not  at  first  notice  Major  von 
Steinhausen,  till  Lies,  who  was  speaking  with  some  anima 
tion,  and  playing  with  her  fan,  dropped  it.  Steinhausen 
restored  it  to  her  with  a  deep  bow,  which  she  returned, 
meeting  his  eyes  fully.  A  startled,  eager,  questioning 
expression  came  into  hers,  then  she  looked  down,  the  color 


E4  MAID,     WIFE,    OR    WIDOW? 

rising  in  her  cheek  as  she  twisted  the  silk  cord  of  her  fan 
nervously  round  her  fingers.  Steinbausen,  with  a  thrill  of 
exultation,  observed  that,  although  she  did  not  actually 
recognize  him,  bis  likeness  to  his  former  self  moved  her 
visibly. 

"Major  von  Steinhcrascn,"  said  the  Frau  Burgomeisterin, 
"* '  pray  allow  me  to  make  Heir  Hauptrnann  Ghering,  my 
cousin,  known  to  you.  Frau  Ghering— Fraulein  Gheririg," 
continued  the  portly,  radiant  dame,  with  a  comprehensive 
•wave  of  the  band  toward  both  ladies,  who  courtesied  at 
the  same  moment;  but  Lies,  with  a  bright  smile  and  mo 
mentary  graceful  hesitation,  held  out  her  hand. 

"Then  you  are  indeed  the  Rittmeister  von  Steinhausen  I 
knew  in  my  old  home." 

* '  How,  Lies  ?"  asked  the  husband. 

"Ob,  mem  lieber  Otto!  Have  I  not  told  thce  of  our 
I  russian  invaders,  and  how  rude  I  was  ?" 

"Ja,  gewiss!  but  now  we  all  fight  under  one  banner. 
So !  I  am  honored  to  make  your  acquaintance,  Herr  Major, 
and  hope  you  are  quite  recovered  from  the  effect  of  your 
wound.  The  Herr  Doctor  bas  been  telling  me  you  fell  in  a 
benevolent  effort  to  save  a  wounded  Saxon  officer  before 
Sedan." 

"You  are  very  good,"  returned  Steinbausen,  whose  at 
tention  was  absorbed  by  a  quick  glance  from  his  former 
antagonist,  a  glance  which  spoke  an  amount  of  recognition 
for  the  aid  given  to  a  Saxon  which  did  not  help  to  steady 
the  recipient's  pulse.  "I  was  not  very  successful  in  my 
attempt." 

The  gentlemen  continued  the  conversation  for  a  few  min 
utes,  the  Hauptmann  expressing  bis  regret  that  the  loss  of 
his  right  arm  at  Koniggratz  had  disabled  him  for  further 
service,  and  compelled  him  to  turn  bis  sword  into  a  plow 
share.  ' '  Still, "  he  added,  * '  a  quiet  home  and  country  pur 
suits  are  not  bad  substitutes  for  a  more  stirring  life;  eh, 
Lies  ?" — looking  at  her — a  look  which  she  met  with  a  bright 
answering  smile  and  nod.  "Far  preferable,"  she  said. 
' '  You  know  what  I  think  of  war." 

"May  I  be  permitted  ?"  said  a  gray,  but  slight  and  ac 
tive  "Oberst  Forster,"  coming  up  at  that  moment,  and 
offering  his  arm  to  the  little  dark-eyed  lady,  who  accepted 
it  and  walked  away  with  him.  The  sound  of  a  well-known 
waltz  now  came  from  the  salon  "Ah,  "cried  the  Haupt 
mann,  "  I  promised  to  try  this  yalse  with  a  little  Bachfisch- 
chen,  who  said  she  did  not  mind  a  one-armed  partner." 
So  saying,  he  walked  away,  and  Steinhausen  was  once 
more  virtually  alone  with  the  object  of  his  interest. 

"A  Bachfischchen,"  he  repeated,  following  the  current 


MAID,     WIFE,    OR    WIDOW?  55 

of  his  thoughts ;  "and  how — where — is  your  bright  little 
sister  Clarchen  I" 

"  Clarchen,"  said  Lies:  "  She  is  married— married  three 
months  ago,  to  a  very  solemn  Professor  of  History,  at 
Leipsic,  much  older  than  herself,  and  what  an  ordinary 
observer  would  think  peculiarly  unsuited  to  her;  but  they 
are,  and  will  be,  I  believe,  the  happiest  couple  possible." 

44  And  you?"  exclaimed  Steinhausen,  gazing  at  her  with 
an  indescribable  mixture  of  pain  and  pleasure.  "  How  has 
it  been  with  you  all  these  long  years  since  you  turned  from 
me  so  abruptly  that  autumn  evening  in  the  salon  at  Villa 
Belle  vue?" 

She  sighed  and  looked  down.  "Our  life  has  been  some 
what  checkered,"  she  replied,  softly.  "  My  dear  father's 
Elain.  for  raising  water  and  turning  his  property  into  a 
-uitifull  and  proved  a  sad,  costly  failure,  We  were  oblig 
ed  *D  leave  our  sweet  home "  She  stopped  abruptly. 

*'  I  know  that,"  said  Steinhausen.  "  You  were  all  gono 
wfcen  I  revisited  Bergfelder,  and  it  seemed  like  looking  on 
&f ±e  face  of  the  dead  to  be  there  and  not  to  find  you !" 

44  You  revisited  Bergfelder!"  she  exclaimed,  raising  her 
vyes  to  his  in  much  surprise.  '4  How,  when?" 

' '  About  eighteen  months  after  the  happy  days  I  spent 
there,"  returned  Steinhausen.  "  Does  it  surprise  you  thafc 
I  returned?" 

<4  Yes,"  she  said,  after  a  moment's  pause.  "It  does  sur 
prise  me  very  much." 

44  Did  you  then  think " 

44 1  had  soon  so  much  that  was  painful  to  engross  me, 
that  I  ceased  to  anticipate  anything  so  pleasant  as  a  visit 
from  you,  Herr  Major,"  interrupted  Lies. 

She  spoke  in  a  tone  of  conventional  politeness. 

4 'And  where  do  the  Herr  Vater  and  Lieb  Mutter  now 
reside?". resumed  Steiuhausen. 

"In  Leipsic,"  she  replied,  with  a  slight  unconscious 
sigh. 

44  How  they  must  miss  you!"  exclaimed  Steinhausen. 

"Miss  me,"  repeated  his  companion;  4'oh,  yes!  but 
then " 

"Bitte,  mein  Herr,"  interrupted  the  Burgomeister. 
"Bitte,  lead  this  fair  lady  to  supper,  the  tables  are  set,'1 
the  worthy  man  hastened  on. 

"Permit  me,"  said  Steinhausen,  offering  his  arm.  "I 
did  not  anticipate  so  great  a  pleasure  when  I  carelessly  ac 
cepted  the  good  doctor's  permission  to  partake  of  this  fes 
tivity  ;  I  began  to  think  that  my  evil  fortune  would  never 
again  permit  my  eyes  to  be  gladened  by  the  sight  of  you, 
and  it  is  a  joy  to  meet  you— you  must  know  that." 


66  MAID,    WIFE,    OR    WIDOW? 

Lies  laughed.  "I  am  happy  to  bestow  pleasures* 
cheaply." 

41  Ay  I  but  to  receive  it  may  be  costly,"  said  Steinhausf^s, 
in  a  low  tone.  To  this  she  made  no  reply,  and  they  enter 
ed  the  principal  salon,  now,  after  the  German  fashion, 
thickly  studded  with  little  tables,  round  which  merry 
parties,  from  three  to  seven,  or  even  ten  in  number,  con 
gregated.  Each  table  was  carried  in  ready  decked,  and 
then  furnished  with  several  bottles  of  wine,  while  the  busy 
waiters  glided  about  laden  with  divers  good  things— great 
pike,  adorned  with  artistically  sculptured  cucumber, 
and  pickled  mushrooms  swimming  in  richest  mayonnaise, 
or  long,  slender  Meissen  dishes;  saddles  of  venison  ready 
carved  in  slices,  and  cunningly  laid  together ;  fowls  white 
as  snow,  or  richly,  deeply,  beautifully  brown.  Salads  of 
every  description;  huge  turkeys  served  hot,  with  cranber 
ry  sauce ;  cakes  in  the  endless  profusion  and  variety  pecul 
iar  to  Germany ;  and  if  the  humble  "Wurst"  of  every 
day  life  obtruded  itself  among  the  more  rechercne 
viands,  it  only  completed  the  cosmopolite  character  of 
the  feast. 

"I  had  no  idea  an  obscure  town  like  Bernstadt  could 
turn  out  so  fine  a  display, "  said  Steinhausen,  who  had  con* 
trived  to  secure  a  table  suited  to  a  tete-a-tete  supper,  and  was 
attending  assiduously  to  the  wants  of  his  companion.  * '  Let 
me  fill  your  glass — this  is  excellent  Rhenish — to  our  speedy 
and  complete  fusion !  To  a  united  Germany !  Eh,  meine 
Gnaclige?  I  think  Saxony  is  well  disposed' to  rest  under 
the  shadow  of  the  Black  Eagle." 

"You  think  so?"  she  said,  in  a  tone  of  dissent,  yet  not 
refusing  to  clink  her  glass  against  his.  "That  is  your 
deep-rooted  conceit.  You  account  for  all  shades  of  national 
feeling  in  the  way  the  least  offensive  to  your  self-love. 
Hanover  shows  herself  a  sullen  irreconcilable — that  is  but 
.a  narrow  fanaticism,  which  blinds  her  to  the  advantages 
of  union  with  her  powerful  neighbor.  Saxony,  enduring 
her  anguish  in  the  silence  of  pride,  is  supposed  to  hug  her 
chains/  Ah,  Major  von  Steinhausen,  long  years  will  elapse 
before  the  forced  fusion  you  exult  in  becomes  real  brother 
hood.1' 

"So  your  ideas  are  still  the  same!"  he  exclaimed. 
"Would  to  Heaven  you  were  unchanged  in  every  way  I 
But  Prussia  is  right  to  seize  what  she  desires  at  the  first 
favorable  moment.  Hesitation,  delay,  might  have  blight 
ed  her  hopes,  destroyed  her  prospects,  as  they  have  done 
mine.  You  cannot  affect  to  misunderstand  me  1"  he  added, 
as  he  caught  a  look  of  astonishment  in  her  eyes. 

"  You  are  a  little  enigmatical,  I  must  say,"  she  replied, 


MAID,    WIFE,    OR    WIDOWf  57 

as  a  fat  little  man  in  uniform  came,  almost  at  a  run,  across 
the  room  to  clink  his  glass  against  Steinhausen's. 

' l  So  glad  to  have  you  amongst  us  again,  lieber  Herr 
Major,  Six  weeks  ago  I  never  thought  you  would  leave 
the  Lazaret,  except  feet  foremost." 

"Thanks  to  your  good  care,  my  friend." 

Then  more  people  came  to  clink  glasses,  and  Steinhau 
sen  had  to  rush  to  one  or  two  distant  tables  to  perform  a 
similar  ceremony,  and  a  break  in  his  conversation  with 
Lies  was  unavoidable. 

This  custom  of  health- drinking  lends  much  animation  to 
a  German  supper,  and  effectually  breaks  down  the  barriers 
of  solemn  state  mariners.  There  is  a  kindly  simplicity 
and  heartiness  in  it,  albeit  it  leads  to  some  confusion.  To 
skim  lightly  over  a  highly-polished  parquet,  with  a  bumper 
of  Khenish  in  one's  hand,  skillfully,  to  avoid  collision 
with  numerous  individuals  bound  on  similar  errands  and 
proceeding  with  equal  velocity,  and  finally  to  come  up 
successfully  alongside  the  right  table,  without  depositing 
yourself,  body  and  wine,  in  the  lap  of  some  largely  devel 
oped  dowager  intent  on  a  plateful  of  savory  meat,  or  on 
the  neck  of  some  tender  Fraulein,  as  she  bends  her  friz 
zled,  curled,  plaited  head  over  the  motto  of  a  bon-bon, 
requires  an  amount  of  ability  and  practice  not  easily  ac 
quired.  But  the  frequent  encounters,  full  tilt,  which  do 
occur,  only  add  to  the  hearty  vivacity  of  the  scene.  Per 
haps  this  spirit  of  enjoyment,  perhaps  a  sudden  return  to 
more  generous  food  and  drink  than  he  had  lately  been  ac 
customed  to,  combined  with  the  mixture  of  bitterness 
and  delight  which  arose  from  his  meeting  with  Lies  in 
her  new  condition,  all  helped  to  excite  in  Steinhausen  a 
reckless  determination  to  enjoy  this  possibly  last  chance 
of  free  intercourse  with  his  lost  love,  and,  coute  qu^il 
coute,  to  express  his  feelings  to  her  before  they  separated. 
Something  in  her  manner  and  bearing  gave  him  an  unde 
fined  sense  of  encouragement.  His  scarce- veiled  admira 
tion  was  not  repulsed  with  the  cold  dignity  he  would 
have  expected  from  Lies  as  a  wife.  She  was  certainly 
glad  to  see  him,  and  even  her  contradictions  and  conten 
tions  were  more  playful  and  indulgent  than  formerly. 
Why  had  she  allowed  herself  to  be  drawn  or  forced  into 
marriage  with  a  fellow  in  every  way  inferior  to  her? 
Why  had  he  (Steinhausen)  not  sought  her  out  more  perse- 
veringly  ?  Life  had  evidently  gone  hard  with  the  kindly 
family  of  Bergf elder  since  those  sunny  autumn  days  of 
four  years  back,  and  hence,  perhaps,  this  accursed  mar 
riage.  At  this  point  he  drove  away,  with  an  effort,  these 
whirling  intersecting  circles  of  thought,  and  hastened  back 
to  his  partner. 


68  MAID,     WIFE,    OR    WIDOW? 

"  There!"  he  cried,"  I  think  I  have  touched  glasses  with 
all  my  Bernstadt  acquaintances,  and  I  may  repose  myself. 
Whatl  no  more  wine?  This  is  first-rate  Johannisberger. 
Well,  if  you  have  supped  come  up-stairs ;  there  is  a  beauti 
ful  moonlight  view  from  a  balcony  next-  the  card-room." 

'"Are  you  prudent  to  risk  cold  while  you  are  still  » 
convalescent?"  she  asked. 

"No,"  returned  Steinhausen,  with  an  expressive  glance, 
" no  cold  will  touch  me  to-night. .  But  you"— he  caught 
up  a  large  fur-lined  mantle  as  they  passed  a  stand  full 
of  helmets  and  military  cloaks — ''you  have  not  the  same 
safeguard ;  and  at  least  for  another  blessed  hour  you  are 
my  care." 

Lies  made  no  reply,  and  they  reached  the  balcony  in 
silence.  Steinhausen  carefully  wrapped  the  cloak  he 
carried  round  the  slight  figure  of  his  companion,  and  they 
stood  a  moment  contemplating  the  scene.  The  garden  and 
lower  portion  of  the  town  sipped  somewhat  steeply  down 
from  tiie  Burgomeister's  residence,  the  snow-laden,  frozen 
trees  nearest  glittering  in  the  gleams  of  light  from  the 
brightly  illuminated  house;  then  came  the  irregular, 
pointed  snowy  roofs,  and  beyond,  the  great,  quiet  hills, 
sleeping  in  the  silvery  beams  poured  upon  them  from  the 
now  sinking  moon. 

"  It  is  lovely !"  said  Lies,  softly. 

"  When  last  we  looked  on  a  fair  scene,  together,"  began 
Steinhausen,  quickly,  "I  was  doubtful,  anxious,  but  not 
hopeless  1  Why  were  you  so  unsympathetic,  so  uncommu 
nicative;  a  word  of  explanation  might  have  saved  me 
much  suffering.  Now  a  real  barrier  exists  between  us !  I 
suppose  an  insurmountable  one." 

*4  Yes,"  said  she,  and  had  Steinhausen  been  less  disturbed 
he  might  have  observed  that  the  "  yes  "  was  more  inter 
rogative  than  affirmative,  "then  you  must  respect  the 
barrier."  It  was  the  nearest  approach  to  a  rebuke  she  had 
uttered,  and  before  he  could  reply  she  went  on :  "  It  is  not 
prudent  for  either  of  us  to  remain  here;  pray  come  down 
stairs  again."  She  re-entered  the  card-room,  and  as  Stein 
hausen  assisted  her  to  take  off  the  cloak,  he  noticed  thafc 
she  had  turned  very  pale,  and  her  hands  trembled. 

"You  have  taken  cold,"  he  exclaimed;  "I  should  not 
have  asked  you  to  go  out  there." 

"  It  is  nothing,  Herr  Major — a  momentary  chill." 

"  Ha!  meiiie  gute  Freunden,"  cried  the  Burgomeister,  a 
little  breathless  from  mounting  the  stairs,  "I  have  been 
looking  for  you  everywhere.  Herr  Major,  you  have  your 
horses  here,  nicht  wahr?  We  have  just  been  arranging  a 
sleighing  party  for  to-morrow — to  Falkenberg;  Herr  Ad- 


JfATD,     WIFE,    OR    WIDOW?  E8 

jutant  Stromer  will  be  the  leader — you  will  join  us,  will 
you  not?" 

4 'With  pleasure,  gewiss!  I  do  not  care  what  Kiesburg 
— what  the  doctor  says." 

"Ach,  Gott!  He  comes  too!  He  says  it  is  all  right. 
We  assemble  at  noon,  here  in  the  market-place,  and" — to 
Lies,  as  he  rubbed  his  hands  exultingly— "  the  Hauptmann 
has  .consented  to  stay  over  another  day."  So  saying,  he 
bustled  away  to  complete  his  arrangements. 

"  You  will  be  my  companion,  will  you  not?"  asked  Stein- 
hausen,  eagerly. 

"  I— I  fear  I  cannot,''  said  Lies,  hesitatingly.  "  The  party 
was  spoken  of  before  supper,  and  I  promised  the  Adjutant  to 
accompany  him,  only  Otto  did  not  think  he  could  remain 
— but  1  suppose  Grefcchen  wishes  to  go."  A  slight  sigh, 
which  Steinhausen  interpreted  hastily  to  mean  that 
Gretchen,  the  little  dark-eyed,  doll-like  cousin's  wishes 
were  paramount  to  hers.  What  a  scoundrel,  to  have  such 
a  pearl,  such  a  priceless  jewel,  and  not  to  prize  her  beyond 
all  else ! 

"  Oh !  I  suppose  he  thought  you  did  not  care  about  sleigh 
ing,"  suggested  Steinhausen,  his  heart  beating  at  the  possi 
bilities  suggested  by  this  indifference. 

* '  Oh !  he  knows  I  like  it — better  than  almost  anything 
else." 

"  Can  you  not  manage  to  throw  over  Stromer,  or— will 
you  leave  it  to  me?" 

t  '"'  I  think  the  engagement  had  much  better  stand." 
•'  ".  Lies— forgive  me.  I  cannot  call  you  by  any  other  name 
— you  are  unspeakably  cruel.  In  a  week  or  two  i  musttre- 
join  my  regiment ;  I  may  never  look  upon  your  sweet  face 
again ;  right  or  wrong,  grant  me  this  hour  of  happiness — 
come  in  my  sleigh." 

"It  would  be  wiser  and  better  I  should  not, "she  re- 
turned,  in  a  low  tone,  and  Steinhausen  felt  her  arm  trem 
ble  in  his ;"  and  you,  you  must  not,  ought  not,  to  forget 
the  barrier  of  which  you  spoke."  They  paused  in  the 
doorway  to  exchange  these  words,  and  the  band  just  then 
began  the  delightful  "  Soldaten  Lieder  Valse." 

Steinhauscn's  keen  eye  caught  the  figure  of  the  detested 
Hauptmann  leaning  over  a  chair  on  which  the  pretty  little 
cousin  was  sitting,  his  eyes,  bearing,  attitude,  all  expres 
sive  of  the  warmest,  tenderest  feeling— he  glanced  at 'his 
companion,  and  saw  that  she,  too,  observed  it.  "  Gott  in 
Himmel !"  thought  Steinhausen,  with  all  the  eager  fire  of 
his  nature,  "is  there  no  way  of  severing  these  tangled 
cords  ?"  but  he  only  said,  as  the  magic  of  the  music  extin- 
£i&&hed  his  small  remaining  stock  of  prudence,  "At  least 


80  MAID,     WIFE,    OR    WIDOW- f 

grant  a  last  request,  the  worst  criminals  are  not  refixsed 
that ;  one  turn— a  first,  and  perhaps  a  last  tour  de  valse. 

Lies  made  no  reply,  but  as  he  put  his  arm  round  her  she 
raised  her  hand  to  his  shoulder,  and  they  whirled  away, 
regardless  of  doctors,  barriers,  and  ail  other  considera 
tions,  floating  to  the  delicious  music!  A  sudden  bump 
brought  Steinhausen's  thoughts  at  least  down  to  earth,  or 
rather  the  parquet.  It  was  the  Hauptmann  and  his  favorite 
cousin,  who  were  looking  into  each  other's  eyes,  and  un 
mistakably  happy.  They  sailed  on  indifferent  to  the  col 
lision,  but  in  the  sudden  effort  to  hold  up  his  partner, 
Steinhausen  felt  the  quick  beat  of  her  heart  against  his  own, 
as  no  doubt  the  sight  of  such  evident  faithlessness  must 
have  cut  her  to  the  soul.  "  No,  do  not  stop  yet;  once  more 
round,"  as  she  made  a  slight  motion  as  if  to  stop;  and  he 
continued  in  l^w,  deep  tones,  "  If  forbidden  anything  be 
yond,  at  least  accept  friendship  the  most  devoted.  I  see 
and  understand  all ;  and  remember,  if  I  can  in  any  way 
lighten  your  sorrows,  you  may  command  myiife."  He 
pressed  her  passionately  to  his  heart. 

* '  Major  von  Steinhausen,  this  is  too  much, "  she  returned, 
stopping  resolutely.  "  You  disturb  and  distress  me.  You 
should  not  forget  the  obligations  of  which  you  have  yourself 
spoken.  I  scarcely  understand  you.  Promise  never  to 
speak  in  such  a  strain  again.  And  so  good-night ;  I  am 
•weary,  very  weary."  There  was  a  sound  as  of  tears  in  thfo 
Toice  as  she  vanished  from  him. 

"  What  an  accursed  fool  I  was  to  startle  her,  was  Stein 
hausen's  reflection  as  he  looked  after  her."  I  must  make 
matters  straight  to-morrow.  I  must  win  her  friendship ; 
better  half  a  loaf  than  no  bread." 

41  Ah !  Steinhausen,  dancing?  That's  wrong,  and  against 
orders,  mein  Lieber.  I  have  half  a  mind  to  forbid  tho 
sleighing  party  to-morrow." 

"Have  a  whole  one,  Herr  Doctor;  it  matters  not  to  me." 

"What!  In  open  rebellion?  Why,  you  must  be  fit  for 
active  service." 

' '  The  party  to-morrow  will  be  '  prachtvoll,"'  said  a  civil 
ian  standing  near. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Adjutant  Stromer,  "sixteen  or  seventeen 
sleighs.  Herr  Hauptmann  Ghering  has  consented  to  post 
pone  his  return  home  in  order  to  join  us." 

"I  thought  his  pretty  wife  would  bring  him  round  to  her 
wishes,"  said  the  doctor,  laughing.  "Well,  it  is  hard  to 
say  '  no '  to  a  creature  like  that." 

"How  little  they  guess  the  truth,"  thought  Steinhaimn, 
with  the  bitterness  of  superior  knowledge,  as  he  wrapped 
himself  in  his  cloak  before  venturing  into  the  frosty  wr. 


MAID,    WIFE,    OR    WIDO^f  61 

"How  $0  dispose  of  Stromer  and  secure  to-morrow  afc 
lesst." 


CHAPTER  II. 

&  morning  after  .the  Burgomeister's  fete  fulfilled  the 
i'/d  of  the  previous  night. 

Bright,  still,  and  wonderfully  clear,  a  perfect  winter's 
day,  as  though  bespoken  for  a  sleighing  party,  and  nearly 
all  Bernstadt  turned  out  to  see  the  start. 

The  market-place  looked  quite  crowded  by  the  array  of 
sleighs  and  their  gayly  caparisoned  horses,  and  the  various 
owners,  who  were  generally  the  drivers  also,  were  going 
busily  to  and  fro  from  their  equipages  to  the  entrance-hall 
of  the  Burgonieister's  house,  where  the  ladies  had  assem 
bled,  arranging  their  "parties,"  and  assisting  to  takeout  the 
furs  and  wraps  with  which  each  was  plentifully  provided. 
The  snow  laden,  peaked  roofs,  projecting  windows,  quaint 
carved  pinnacles  and  vanes,  which  make  the  street  scenery 
of  old  German  towns  so  charming,  sparkled  in  the  noon 
day  sun;  rosy-faced  old  women,  "warmly  clad  in  woolen 
garments,  looked  placidly  on  as  they  sat,  sipping  smoking 
coffee,  surrounded  by  their  stock,  red  apples,  golden 
oranges,  and  great  pale  green  cabbages  piled  up  in  pleasant 
masses  of  color,  earthenware,  felt  slippers,  fowls,  still  in 
their  soft  gray  and  brown  plumage,  glittering  tin  pans  and 
kettles,  and  the  endless  sundries  which  must  charm  all 
strange  housekeepers  in  Germany ;  potatoes,  bright-colored 
wools  for  knitting,  toys,  gingerbread,  baskets,  and  boots, 
made  in  the  center  of  the  space  a  variegated  array,  and  in 
the  interval  between  the  booths  and  the  footway  the  lino  of 
sleighs  almost  encircled  the  market-place. 

Nearly  all  had  assembled  when  Steinhansen  drove  up. 
He  had  contrived  almost  to  cover  a  hired  sledge  with 
costly  furs,  while  his  servant  had  seen  to  the  decoration  of; 
the  horse,  a  favorite  with  master  and  man;  a  large  power 
ful  animal,  black  as  night,  and  as  fiery  as  his  owner. 
Steinhausen  had  not  been  able  to  make  any  move  toward 
robbing  Stromer  of  his  destined  partner,  but  he  hoped  by 
some  impromptu  stratagem  to  accomplish  his  end  at  the 
moment  of  starting.  He  therefore  paused  to  reconnoifcer 
before  entering  the  house,  011  the  steps  of  which  he  recog-- 
nized  Herr  Hauptmann  Q-hering  in  close  and  animated 
conversation  with  the  Burgomeister.  As  he  made  his  way 
to  where  the  lady  of  the  house  stood,  various  exclamations 
reached  his  ear— "  Ach,  Gott!  it  is  too  bad,  too  vexatious." 
—  "Such  an  ausgezeichneter  Fuhrer  "  (admirable  leader). 
— "  Who  will  replace  him  ?"— "  Oh,  the  Herr  Burgomeister 
himself."— u  He  is  just  as  good  as  Stromer." 


63  MAID,     WIFE,    OR    WIDOW* 

•  ""What  misfortune  has  happened,  mein  Herr  BurgcK 
meister  ?"  asked  Steinhausen,  shaking  hands  with  the 
worthy  magistrate.  -j 

44  Why,  the  adjutant,  Von  Strqmer,  is  suddenly  called  to 
meet  the  Commandant  at  Konigstein,  this  evening,  and 
has  already  started,  so  we  are  deprived  of  our  leader.  I 
wanted  Herr  Hauptmann,  here— oh!  he's  gone!— to  take 
his  place;  put  he  refuses."  ^ 

"  We  could  not  wish  a  better  chief  than  yourself,  Herr 
Burgomeister "  jj 

"Come,  come!"  exclaimed  the  Frau  Burgomeisterin  to 
her  husband,  "we  are  losing  time.  Take  thou  the  lead, 
lieher  Gerhardt,  and  let  us  go.  Here,  Lies,  Lies !  Here  is 
a  cavalier  for  you.  Major  von  Steinhausen,  meine  cousine 
has  lost  hers  by  this  sudden  summons  to  the  Adjutant. 
Go,  meine  Liebling,  the  Herr  Major  will  take  good  care  of 
you,  and  you  can  show  him  the  way." 

Need  it  be  said  with  what  avidity  Steinhausen  pounced 
upon  this  golden  chance  ?  The  stars  in  their  courses  fought 
for  him  at  last,  he  thought,  as  with  a  studiously  grave, 
composed  air  he  offered  his  arm  to  Lies,  who  had  been 
hidden  by  the  wide  expanse  of  the  Burgomeisterin's  figure. 
She  looked  pale  and  slightly  confused,  but  infinitely  pretty, 
in  a  warm  winter  costume  of  gray  cloth  and  dark-brown 
fur,  and  a  cap  of  the  same,  over  which  a  blue  head  ' '  Tuch  " 
(knitted  woolen  scarf)  was  loosely  thrown  to  shield  their 
ears  from  cold  and  frost-bite. 

She  hesitated  and  drew  back  at  his  approach. 

*4  Perhaps,  Herr  Major,  you  have  already  made  some 
other  engagement.  I  can  go  with " 

"  It  is  our  duty  at  once  to  obey,"  he  interrupted,  with 
much  decision,  and,  drawing  her  arm  within  his  own,,  he 
led  her  away  to  his  sleigh  alnwst  a  prisoner,  so  tightly  did 
he  hold  her  hand  against  his  side. 

Von  Steinhausen's  movement  appeared  to  put  an  end  to 
the  hesitation;  the  company  began  rapidly  to  arrange 
themselves  in  their  sleighs,  and  the  Burgomeister  under 
took  the  duties  of  leader. 

When  all  were  seated  he  gave  the  word,  "Vorwarts," 
and  they  started  in  the  order  prescribed  by  the  rules  of 
sleighing  parties.  First  came  the  six  t4  Einsparmer  "  (one- 
horse  vehicles  of  the  unmarried  gentlemen,  each  accompa 
nied  by  the  lady  he  had  invited;  next  a  large  sleigh  with 
four  horses,  conveying  the  band;  then  eight  or  nine 
4 '  Zweispanners  "  (two-horse  sleighs),  each  holding  four, 
and  driven  by  married  gentlemen,  closed  the  procession. 
Behind  each  rode  a  servant,  enveloped  in  furs,  on  a  sad 
dle-like  seat,  his  feet  resting  on  a- narrow  ledge  beneath 
the  body  of  the  carriage.  Away  they  went,  the  horses 


WIFE,   OR  WIDOW  f  6? 

tossing  their  heads  as  if  proud  of  their  bells,  their  gay 
trappings,  and  the  many -colored  tufts  of  hair  that  hung 
frcm  the  arch  above  their  heads.  The  sleigh-bells  rang 
merrily,  the  drivers  cracked  their  long  whips,  the  band 
clashed  out  a  quick  march,  the  metal  ornaments  of  the 
carriages  glittered  in  the  sunshine,  the  little  boys  shouted 
with  delight,  as  the  whole  cortege  swept  rapidly  down  a 

,  narrow  street  past  the  Lazaret,  and  away  over  a  narrow 

*  steep  bridge  that  spanned  the  river  on  which  the  town  was 
built,  now  fast  locked  in  the  frost's  icy  grasp,  into  the  open 
country,  away  past  cottages,  their  windows  thickly  framed 
with  green  pine  boughs  to  keep  out  the  winter  blast,  past 
farmyards  with  their  central  dirt-heaps  congealed,  frosted 
over,  and  sparkling  in  the  light,  past  great  wide  reaches  of 
pure,  smooth,  dazzling  snow,  past  rare  human  figures, 
like  walking  bundles  of  clothes,  who  stopped  and  stared 
after  the  gay  company.  Away  still,  leaving  all  trace  of 
houses  and  life  behind,  always  ascending,  sometimes  so 
steeply  that  the  fresh,  eager  horses  were  obliged  to  go 
slowly.  The  goal  was  a  mountain  village  which  lay  at  the 
foot  of  a  huge,  conical  hill,  or  rather  mass  of  rock,  crown 
ed  by  some  beautiful  ruins. 

Fpllkenburg  was  renowned  as  an  object  for  both 
summer  and  winter  parties,  and  especially  for  sleighing 
"  Geselleschaft."  Nearly  all  the  drivers  were  familiar  with 
the  way ;  but  to  Steinhausen  it  was  quite  new.  He  was 
therefore  obliged  to  keep  his  horse  well  in  hand,  to  that 
animal's  great  disgust,  manifested  by  bounds  and  pranc- 
ings  which  fully  exercised  his  driver's  skill  and  strength 
of  wrist. 

Steinhausen  had  wrapped  and  packed  up  his  companion 
in  the  luxurious  furs  of  his  sleigh  with  the  teiiderest  care, 
for  which  she  thanked  him  with  a  glance  and  smile  of 
unusual  friendliness,  and  then  an  awkward  silence  fell 

I,  upon  them. 

\     "  You  are  half  frightened,  I  see,"  exclaimed  Steinhausea. 

j  at  last,  looking  down  at  Lies  as  she  unconsciously  shrank 

I  nearer  to  him  during  some  of  their  steed's  wilder  perform- 

!  ances. 

"No,  scarcely  frightened,  a  little  uncomfortable,  and  I 
fear  for  you,  so  lately  recovered.  This  tiresome  horse  is 
too  much." 

"No,  he  is  not,"  said  Steinhausen,  shortly.  "But, 
meine  Giiadigo,  you  know  the  road — may  I  venture  to 
give  Mohr  his  head,  and  pass  on  to  the  front  I  It  is  this 
holding-in  that  makes  him  troublesome." 

li  Yes,"  she  returned,  "  I  know  the  road  well." 
With  a  dexterous  hand  Steinhausen  shaved,  perilously 
fcl-ose,  past  the  foremost  sleigh,  and  then  off  they  weufc 


84  MAID,    WIFE,    OR    WIDOW? 

like  the  wiitd,  leaving  the  rest,  who  shouted  reproaches 
after  them  for  breaking  the  line  of  march,  far  behind; 
the  black  horse,  relieved  from  the  indignity  of  having 
to  follow  another,  settled  down  into  a  steady  rapid 
trot. 

•' That's  all  right,"  exclaimed  Lies'  charioteer.  "Now 
xve  can  talk  in  comfort;"  but  he  exercised  the  privilege 
•with  exceeding  caution,  determined  not  to  startle  his 
companion  into  being  on  her  guard.  He  inquired  with 
deep  interest  for  her  brother,  and  listened  with  profound 
attention  to  her  history  of  him;  then  he  led  her  on  to 
speak  of  her  new  home  at  Leipsic,  enjoying  the  ready 
freedom  of  her  conversation  now  that  they  kept  on  in 
different  topics.  She  was  evidently  familiar  with  tha 
country,  and  gave  him  many  particulars  of  its  history  and 
traditions. 

At  length,  as  Steinhausen  was  beginning  to  think  they 
had  had  enough  of  indifferent  subjects,  and  that  his  fair 
companion  was  rather  too  much  at  her  ease,  the  road, 
which  had  hitherto  been  constantly  ascending,  approached 
the  first  rocky,  pine-sprinkled  hills  that  guarded  the  en 
trance  to  the  valley  and  village  which  was  the  object  of 
the  excursion,  and  began  to  descend  the  side  of  a  pictur 
esque  gorge,  at  the  bottom  of  which,  in  summer  time, 
gurgled  and  chafed  a  little  stream,  now  still  and  silent  in 
the  iron  grasp  of  winter.  The  hills  rose  high  at  either  side, 
studded  with  huge  gray  rocks  which  stood  out  in  all  kinds 
of  fantastic  shapes,  loaded  with  snow  on  one  side  and  bare 
on  the  other,  as  the  wind  had  drifted;  the  great  solemn 
pine-trees  looked  dark  and  weird  over  the  exquisite  daz 
zling  white  which  shrouded  the  earth;  the  death -like,  utter 
silence  was  almost  oppressive.  They  might  have  been  the 
first  human  visitors  that  had  ever  broken  in  upon  the  pro 
found  solitude,  so  far  as  appearance  went. 

A  sense  of  their  complete  isolation  seemed  to  force  itself 
upon  Lies  Ghering.  She  turned  once  or  twice  to  look  back, 
and  said,  "  How  far  we  have  left  the  rest  behind." 

"  Yes;  they  will  not  be  up  for  this  half  hour,"  returned 
Steinhausen,  coolly.  "But  that  is  no  matter.  What  curi- 
ous  rocks,"  pointing  to  a  gray  mass  high  above  their  heads 
and  in  front  of  them. 

''It  is  called  the  ' Basket- woman, ' M  she  replied,  "and 
here  on  the  left  is  the  'Stein  Bock. '  See!  you  can  trace 
the  head  and  horns  quite  well.  The  shapes  of  the  rocks 
here  are  very  curious." 

*'  Very  curious,  indeed,"  said  Steinhausen,  looking  about 
him.  ' '  They  are  strangely  worn  and  cut." 

'  Learned  people  say  that  a  great  lake  or  sea  once  filled 
up  this  valley  and  the  country  round,  and  these  rocks  are 


MAID,    WIFE,    OR    WIDOWt  65 

•worn  and  shaped  by  the  action  of  tides  and  currents.  I 
believe  Bohemia  was  once  an  inland  sea,  and  we  are  close 
to  the  frontier." 

" Close  to  the  borders?"  replied  Steinhausen,  laughing, 
and  cracking  his  whip.  "It  is  a  temptation  to  cross  it, 
and  bid  our  party  a  long  farewell." 

And  glancing  at  his  companion,  he  laughed  again  at 
the  expression,  half-annoyance,  half-fear,  that  crossed  her 
face. 

*'*  You  believe  me  capable  of  any  wickedness,  I  suppose," 
he  con  tinned.  "Do  you  not  also  believe  that,  whatever 
temptation  may  assail  me,  my  first  thought  is  and  ever 
will  be  for  you.  You  may  trust  in  my  deep  regard  for 
you." 

(  Lies  was  silent,  and  when  she  spoke  again  it  was  to  direct 
him  which  of  two  rather  faint  tracks  to  take. 

They  had  traversed  the  windings  of  the  gorge,  which  now 
opened  out  in  an  oblong  valley  or  basin,  at  one  side  of 
which  was  a  small  "Dorf,"  the  houses  looking  like  white 
hillocks  above  the  universal  snowy  mantle  that  lay  thick 
and  soft  upon  the  earth. 

Over  the  village  towered  a  sudden  mighty  mass  of  rock 
rising  six  or  seven  hundred  feet,  quite  clear  from  all  the 
other  hills,  and  crowned  by  the  graceful  ruins  of  a 
"  Kloster."  The  sides  were  plentifully  dotted  with  pines 
and  gnarled  fir-trees;  but  here  and  there  great  sheer  sur 
faces  of  rock  showed  bare  and  uncouth  with  a  sort  of  sav 
age  strength.  Underneath,  the  road  wound  round  past 
the  first  outlying  better  houses,  through  the  narrow  street, 
aad  finally,  by  Lies1  directions,  they  stopped  at  a  larger 
and  more  pretentious  "  Restauration "  than  could  have 
been  expected  in  so  small  a  place.  It  was  built  on  the  side 
of  the  hill  or  rock,  and  was  reached  by  a  flight  of  steps. 
The  view  over  the  valley  was  very  charming,  and  the 
principal  room  was  quite  surrounded  by  windows  that 
commanded  it. 

A  respectable  looking  woman  was  standing  at  the  door 
to  receive  them,  while,  within,  a  warm  stove  and  long 
tables  spread  for  coffee,  with  endless  piles  of  cakes,  showed 
they  were  expected. 

Steinhausen  threw  the  reins  to  his  groom,  and  assisted 
Lies  to  disentangle  herself  from  her  wraps  and  to  alight ; 
then  the  horse  and  sleigh  were  led  off  to  the  stables,  and 
they  ascended  the  steps  to  the  little  terrace  before  the 
entrance  to  the  4i  Restauration." 

Here  Lies  paused,  and  looking  back  along  the  road  by 
which  they  had  just  come,  said,  rather  anxiously,  "  I  can 
see  no  sign  of  .them,  yet." 

*'  I  thought  I  heard  a  faint  sound  of  music,"  returned 


60  MAID,    WIFE,    OR    WIDOWt 

Steinhausen;  "they  are  not  far  off,"  he  continued,  and 
ventured  to  add,  "Are  you  afraid  of  Herr  Hauptmarin'i 

displeasure  at  our  demarch  y 

"  Not  at  all,"  she  answered;  "  he  is  far  too  much  occu 
pied  with  Gretchen  to  think  of  me." 

Greatly  surprised  at  this  admission,  Steinhausen,  looking 
into  his  companion's  ej^es,  ventured  to  observe,  "This  is 
to  me  incomprehensible-  to  you  it  must,  I  fear,  be  very 
painful."  He  spoke  feelingly,  and  with  unusual  diffidence 
lor  him. 

"No!"  she  returned,  with  what  he  thought  a  hitter 
smile;  "  on  the  contrary,  it  is  in  many  wnys  a  relief. " 

Stemhausen's  heartbeat  exultingly  at  this  extra  ordinary 
avowal,  and  yet  an  odd  sort  of  disappointment  marred  his 
complete  satisfaction.  Lies  was  to  him  not  only  a  charm 
ing  woman,  the  touch  of  whose  band  sent  a  subtle,  deli 
cious  thrill  through  every  vein,  but  an  ideal  womanv  too— 
and  his  first  ideal !  For  a  moment  he  did  not  know  how- 
to  reply.  He  feared  to  presume  on  her  strange — he  hoped 
peculiar — confidence  in  him.  But  her  manner  left  him  in 
doubt,  and  while  he  doubted,  the  first  sleigh  of  the  party 
they  had  left  behind  came  round  a  turn  of  the  road  trader 
ike  great  rock,  and  rapidly  approached. 

Steinhausen  uttered  a  strong  expression  of  disgust.  "  I 
did  not  think  they  were  so  close  upon  our  heels."  he  eaid. 

Lies  made  no  reply,  but,  after  an  instant's  silence,  said, 
as  she  played  somewhat  nervously  with  the  scarf  she.  had 
taken  from  her  head,  "Tell  me — as  we  have  fallen  into 
a  confidential  tone— why  Frau  von  Steinhausen  is  not  with 
you  ?" 

"  Frau  von  Steinhausen!"  he  repeated,  greatly  puzzled. 
"Who  is  she?" 

"  Your  wife,  of  course,"  said  Lies,  opening  her  great  blue 
eyes. 

"My  wife!  I  have  none — I  never  married.  Who  told 
you  so  ?" 

"  I  though t— I  understood  you  to  say  that " 

"You  misunderstood  or  misconstrued  anything  I  could 
have  said,"  he  interrupted,  eagerly.  "  Ah,  Lies!  distance,, 
time,  various  distractions  may  have  dimmed  the  -first  viv 
idness  of  the  impression  you  made  upon  me,  but  no  other 
lias  ever  interfered  with  it.  Must  I  never  tell  you  -of.  the 
frgcny  it  is  to  feel  that  you  are  another's — another  who 

does  not  value  the  jewel  he  possesses "  He  stopped,  for 

the  long  line  of  sleighs  were  ail  in  sight,  and  the  first-  al 
most  at  the  place  where  they  stood. 

Lies  still  gazed  at  him  as  if  bewildered,  then  a  .sudden, 
bright,  sweet  smile -lit  up  her  face;  a  quick  blush  .flitted 
over  her  cheek,  she  looked  down  and  had  just  begun  to 


,     WIFE,    OR    WIDOW  67 

speak,  "  I  think  I  begin  to  see  how  the  mistake "  when 

the  newly-arrived  sleigh-driver  shouted  from  beneath: 

••*  •  You  were  not  so  far  ahead  after  all,  Herr  Major,  though 
you  did  break  our  rules  so  boldly." 

"  Better  break  rules  than  bones,"  returned  Steinhausen, 
hastening  down  the  steps  to  assist  the  lady  who  occupied 
the  Second  seat  in  the  sleigh  to  extricate  herself  from  her 
furs. 

She  was  a  pretty,  simple  girl  of  seventeen,  the  Burgo- 
meister's  daughter,  and,  as  soon  as  she  was  liberated  from 
her  profuse  wrappings,  she  ran  up  the  steps  to  link  her 
arm  through  that  of  Lies,  and  began  chattering  at  a  rapid 
rate.  The  rest  of  the  party  now  drove  up  in  quick  succes 
sion,  and  the  large  room  of  the  Restau ration  was  crowded 
with  gay,  laughing,  noisy,  talkative  groups,  which  con 
trasted  with  the  death-like  silence  and  stillness  which 
reigned  without.  Most  of  the  gentlemen  charioteers  had 
delayed  a  few  moments  to  see,  themselves,  to  the  accom 
modation  of  their  horses,  but  they  soon  joined  the  rest,  and 
then  coffee  was  brought,  and  the  pleasant  confusion  of 
finding  seats  ensued. 

During  this  time  Steinhausen  carefully  bestowed  his  at 
tentions  on  every  other  lady  except  Lies,  yet  never  lost 
sight  of  her.  He  saw  that  she  talked  with  much  animation 
to  nearly  all  the  ladies,  and  many  of  the  gentlemen.  Ho 
noticed  alight  in  her  eyes,  abloom  on  her  cheek,  that  made 
her,  in  his  opinion,  quite  lovely;  and  he  attributed  both  to 
the  excitement  of  wounded  feeling.  He  saw,  too,  that  brute 
of  a  husband  of  hers  speak  to  her  with  an  angry  brow  and 
a  look  that  made  Steinhausen  long  to  tear  him  limb  from 
limb.  And  how  sweetly  she  smiled  upon  him  in  reply ! 
Steinhausen  wondered  at  her.  It  would  be  wiser  to  show 
more  spirit.  So,  internally  chafing,  he  sat  down  with  tha 
rest  to  take  his  coffee. 

Now  the  ladies,  according  to  German  sleighing  custom, 
attended  sedulously  to  the  wants  of  their  chilled  cavaliers, 
whose  hands,  numbed  with  cold,  despite  the  thick  fur- 
covered  driving-gloves,  could  scarce,  at  first,  hold  a  plate 
or  pick  out  the  slices  of  rich  cake  which  were  handed 
round. 

Opposite  Steinhausen  sat  Hauptmann  Ghering,  and  tha 
former  could  hardly  bring  himself  to  answer  the  good- 
humored,  commonplace  remarks  addressed  to  him  by  his 
successful  rival,  as  he  noticed  the  assiduity  with  which 
that -audacious  little  dark-eyed  cousin  waited  upon  him, 
sweetened  his  coffee,  heaped  cake  upon  his  plate,  and  ab 
solutely  leaned  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder.  It  was  too 
barefaced !  But  his  attention  was  agreeably  diverted.  Ha 
was  delightfully  surprised  by  the  quiet  caro  bestowed  upoa 


68  MAID,    WIFE,    OR    WIDOW  9 

him  by  Lies.    In  after-days  he  reflected  with  surprise  on  tl% 
pieces  of  cake  he  devoured  and  the  cups  of  coffee  he  called 
for  on  that  memorable  occasion.    It  was  so  heavenly  to 
have  the  cake  handed  over  his  shoulder  by  Lies's  snmll 
firm  hand,  and,  turning  to  thank  her,  to  find  her  sveet 
eyes  and  lips  so  near,  and  yet,  alas !  so  far.    Why  wav  she 
so  distractingly  kind  ?    Was  it  really  meant  for  Irm,  or 
defiance  of  his  opposite  neighbor?    if  the  latter,  it  was  im»  j, 
wise  to  rouse  suspicion  at  that  stage  of  affairs.    Indeed,  '." 
Steinhausen  was  beginning  to  wish  he  was  away  in  the  \ 
solitude  of  his  own  room,  that  he  might  think  over  some  I 
wild  plans  that  would  suggest  themselves  to  nis  imagina-  fe 
tion.    Matters  were  evidently  becoming  desperate  between  § 

the  Hauptmann  and  his  injured  wife,  and Well,  di-  fc 

vorce  is  not  such  a  tremendous  affair  in  Germany,  espe 
cially  when  a  husband  has  no  objection,  though  he  was  not 
so  engrossed  by  his  pretty  attendant  as  not  to  cast  angry 
glances  at  Steinhausen  occasionally  towai'd  the  end  of  the 
repast.  At  last,  as  the  vigor  of  the  onslaught  some  what 
relaxed,  the  kindly  Burgomeister,  standing  up  in  his  pi  ace, 
called  aloud  that  they  would  have  no  more  of  daylight 
than  would  permit  them  to  view  the  ruins— at  least,  such 
of  them  as  were  disposed  to  undertake  the  steep  and  slip 
pery  ascent. 

"Let  those  who  will  follow  me  hold  up  their  hands." 
Two-thirds  of  the  party  obeyed. 

"Come,  come!"  cried  the  Doctor  to  Stemhausen,  "this 
is  too  much !— Dancing  last  night,  driving  this  morning, 
climbing  this  afternoon !  I  positively  cannot  allow  my 
patient  such  license.  Stay  here  by  the  *  Of  en'  quietly  and 
rest,  while  we  make  the  ascent.  I  have  a  journal  in  my 
pocket,  very  much  at  your  service,  and  perhaps " 

"My  good  friend,"  interrupted  Steinhausen.  resolutely, 
*'  I  feel  strong  enough  to  set  you  at  defiance,  and  I  am  de 
termined  to  see  the  ruins.    There  is  no  use  in  talking  to  *- 
me ;"  and,  missing  Lies  as  he  turned  round,  he  went  hastily  f 
into  a  small  outer  room  or  entrance-hall,  where,  rather  to  f 
his  surprise,  he  found  the  object  of  his  search  in  close  con- : 
versation  with  Burchardt.    They  appeared  to  be  enjoying  ' 
a  good  joke,   for   Burchardt  was    laughing  loudly,  and  [ 
Lies's  mirth,  though  less  noisy,  was  to  the  full  as  hearty.  \ 

Both  stopped  on  perceiving  the  Major,  and,  on  his  asking 
what  amused  them,  Lies  was  silent,  and  Burchardt  replied 
that  he  (Steinhausen)  should  know  all  about  it  before  the 
day  was  over. 

The  party  were  soon  ready  for  the  ascent,  and  with 
many  slid  ings,  slippings,  and  not  a  few  falls,  with  jest  and 
laughter,  and  much  good-humored  chaff,  they  climbed  ths 
steep  hillside— Burchardt  making  himself  excessive! r  -ob» 


MAID,     WIFE,    OR    WIDOW  f  .  63 

Boxious  by  keeping  at  the  side  of  Frau  Ghering,  and  talk 
ing  in  the*  most  heedless  way  of  that  husband  of  hers—,, 
topic  evidently  unwelcome  to  the  unhappy  wife.  At 
length,  as  they  approached  a  stiffer  part  or  the  ascen :,, 
Burehardt  suddenly  found  the  exertion  too  much  for  hircC 
and  turned  back  to  join  the  older  and  more  indolent  mem 
bers  of  the  company  who  had  stayed  behind. 
I  This  move,  however,  did  little  toward  favoring  the  tete-a* 

iteie  which  Steinhausen  sought.     Lies  kept  perse veringly 
with  the  rest  o*f  the  party,  and  he  had  to  console  himself  by 
walking  03  nr-ar  her  as  possible,  and  assisting  her  in  the 
I  various  difficulties  of  the  path. 

At  length  the  summit  was  reached,  and  the  company 
'  dispersed  to  examine  the  ruins.  The  small  space  at  th"e 
top  of  the  lofty  rock  had  once  been  completely  covered 
by  buiklings  of  rare  beauty,  to  judge  by  the  remains  — 
graceful  arches,  long,  pointed,  slender  windows,  the  deli 
cate  tracery  still  unbroken;  fluted  columns,  and  ribbed 
cloisters,  the  openings  at  one  side  showing  a  sheer  descent 
gome  hundreds  of  feet  to  a  thick  pine  wood,  inclosing  a 
small  lake,  all  thickly  covered  with  the  purest  snow,  and 
sparkling  in  the  sunshine,  already  showing  a  red  evening 
tinge, 

Here  Steinhausen  found  himself  at  last  almost  alone  witli 
Lies,  and  his  first  question  was,  "  What  were  you  and 
Burchardt  laughing  at  so  heartily?'' 

41  Oh,  only  at  a  mistake  one  of  the  party  had  made — the 
Rittmeisler  will  tell  you  about  it,  much  better  than  I  could, 
Kpw  lovely  these  ruins  are,  and  even  more  beautiful  ia 
vdnter  than  in  summer,  when  I  first  saw  them." 

"  In  summer !"  repeated  Steinhausen,  unable  to  resist  the 
painful  attraction  of  one  subject.  "Then,  may  I  ask — 
\vhen — when  your  unfortunate  marriage  took  place?'' 

k>  Indeed,  you  may  not!'1  she  replied,  quickly,  ''  This  is 
a  topic  on  which  I  cannot  bear  to  speak. 

li  1  beg  your  pardon  for  forcing  it  on  you,11  he  returned; 
"but  oneway  you  will  tell  me  all,  you  will  treat  me  with 
the  eoiifi<Ienc~e  my  deepest,  tenderest  sympathy  deserves/' 

"Major  von  Steinhausen  know.s  there  is  a  barrier " 

she  began,  in  low  tones,  with  averted  head. 

•'I  do,1'  he  answered ;  "  but  need  it  be  insuperable?" 

**  Let  nie  tell  you  about  these  ruins,1'  she  interrupted, 
hastily.  "  You  know  the  4  Kloster '  was  built  by  Celestine 
monks  \yhom  the  Emperor  Charles  the  Fourth  brought 
from  Avignon.  The  architect " 

''Lies,11  said  Hauptmann  Ghering,  coming  up  behind 
them.  tl  I  wish  you  would  come  to  Gretchen,  she  is  faint 
and  unwell;  1  arn  certain  she  has  caught  a  chill;  do 
coma  * 


10  MAID,     WIFE,    OR    WIDOW  f 

"This  is  the  most  barefaced  conduct  I  ever  witnessed," 
thought  Steinhausen,  gazing  after  them  with  profound 
amazement,  as  Lies,  without  a  word  of  applog\r,  turned  at 
once  and  accompanied  the  Hauptmanii  in  the  direction 
from  which  he  had  come.  "I  did  not  think  Lies  would 
have  submitted  so  tamely;  she  does  not  seem  afraid  of  the 
fellow  either.  There  is  something  about  it  all  I  caruioo 
understand,"  and  he  walked  slowly  on  alone,  not  by  any 
means  taking  the  deep  interest  in  the  beautiful  ruins  whien. 
he  ought  to~have  done.  Falling  in  presently  with  the 
Burgomeister,  they  had  an  agricultural  conversation  about 
the  resources  of  the  district,  the  amount  of  wheat  per  a^re 
produced,  etc.,  till  the  worthy  leader  of  the  expedition. 
gave  the  word  of  command  to  descend. 

Steinhausen  took  his  stand  on  a  piece  of  rock,  and  saw 
the  company  file  past,  the  fair  invalid  hanging  on  the 
Hauptmann's  arm,  who  supported  her  steps  with  the  ut 
most  care  and  tenderness;  Lies  followed,  the  Burgo- 
meisters  daughter  hanging  on  her  arm— to  this  pair  Stein 
hausen  accordingly  joined  himself. 

The  descent  was  considerably  more  difficult  than  the 
climbing  up,  and  Steinhausen  found  he  had  enough  to  do  to 
help  two  ladies. 

"Herr  Major,  can  you  not  confide  one  of  these  ladies  to 
my  care?"  cried  a  young  "  Gut's  Besitzer,"  who  had  turn 
ed  back  to  meet  them;  "l  you  have  too  much  and  I  too  lit 
tle  to  do.  Erlauben  Sie  mir,  gnadiges  Fraulein,"  and  hd 
offered  his  arm  to  the  younger  girl,  who  immediately  ac 
cepted  it,  and  went  merrily  on. 

Steinhausen  then  drew  Lies's  arm  through  his  own,  and 
they  proceeded  for  some  way  in  silence.  At  last  he  asked, 
"When  will  you  explain  to  me  the  mysteries  with  which 
you  seem  to  be  surrounded?  Why  should  you  be  called 
upon  to  attend  to  that — that  girl,  to  whom  your  husband 
is  so  shamelessly  devoted  ?— tell  me!" 

"  Major  von  Steinhausen,"  she  interrupted,  in  a  low,  ua< 
Steady  voice,  "  I  must  beg  of  you  not  to  question  me  now; 
have  patience,  and  to-morrow  you  shall  have  a  full  expla* 
nation—a  written  explanation  of  all  that  puzzles  you. 
This  is  due  to  the— the  interest  you  express  and  seem  to 
feel." 

" Seem !"  cried  Steinhausen.  "Can  you  think  it  seern« 
ing?;' 

" 1 — I  believe  it  is  real,"  she  returned,  and  Steinhausen 
fancied  he  felt  a  slight  pressure  on  his  arm  to  which  he 
warmly  responded;  but  all  he  said  was  "Thank  you." 

The  remainder  of  the  descent  was  accomplished  almost 
in  silence,  but  with  an  amount  of  tender  care  on  tha  parl 
of  her  companion  very  intelligible  to  Lies, 


MAID,    WIFE,    OR    WIDOW?}  ?i 

At  length  they  reached  the  little  Restauration,  where 
the  sleighs  were  already  drawn  up. 

"Burgomeister,"  said  Steinhausen,  making  his  way  to 
that  authoritative  individual,  who  was  issuing  emphatic 
orders,  "  permit  me  to  lead  the  procession.  My  horse  is  so 
restless  that  it  is  safer  for  all  parties  if  I  start  first." 

"  Good,  mem  Herr  Major.     Who  is  your  partner?" 

"Frau  Ghering,  Herr  Burgomeister," 

"Ah!  the  Hauptmann  insists  on  escorting  his  wife  back, 
as  she  is  not  so  well— fainted  among  the  ruins,  or  some 
such  thing.  Why  not  return  as.  you  came,  with  Frauiein. 
Ghering?  a  very  charming  companion. ". 

* '  Frau  Ghering— Frauiein  Ghering !"  repeated  Stein 
hausen,  like  a  man  in  a  dream.  "Ach,  Himmel!  what  do 
you  mean?  I  drove  Frau  Ghering  here  to-day." 

"  By  no  means,"  returned  the  jovial  magistrate.  "You 
escorted  Herr  Hauptmann's  cousin.  I  thought  you  were 
old  acquaintances." 

"Acquaintances  or  not,"  exclaimed  Steinhausen.  quiver 
ing  with  the  new  light  breaking  upon  him,  "1  wish  to 
drive  the  same  lady  as  I  brought  down." 

' '  Good , "  returned  the  Burgomeister.  * '  There  she  stand?*. 
If  you  wish  to  be  first,  go." 

He  pointed  to  Lies,  who  stood  near  the  door,  with  down 
cast  eyes,  and  coloring  fco  the  roots  of  her  hair.  Stein 
hausen  strode  across  the  room,  and  taking  from  her  the 
wraps  with  which  she  was  encumbered,  silently  offered 
her  his  arm,  silently  led  her  to  the  sleigh,  silently  wrapped 
her  up  with  the  same  assiduous  care,  and,  taking  his 
place  beside  her,  drove  off  rapidly.  Still  in  silence  till  the 
jRestauration  and  its  guests  were  left  at  some  distance, 
then,  handing  the  reins  to  his  groom,  who  was  perched 
behind,  he  exclaimed,  in  an  earnest  and  somewhat  indig 
nant  voice : 

•'What  is  this  cruel  trick  you  have  played  upon  me? 
j  Give  me  your  promised  explanation  now." 

"Indeed,  indeed,  Herr  Major,  I  have  played  no  trick 

[upon  you,"  cried  Lies,   who  was  still  very  pale.     "Wo 

j  have  both  been  self-deceived.     I  did  not  understand  that 

you  thought  I  was  my  cousin's  wife  till  a  couple  of  hours 

I  ago,  when  we  were  waiting  for -the  rest  of  our  party,  and 

your  allusion  last  night  to  the  '  barrier '  which  you  knew 

existed  between  us,  made  me  think  you  were  yourself 

married.    It    was  awkward   immediately  to  explain.     I 

thought  it  would  be  better — less — less  terrible  to  write. 

Pray  forgive^ — " 

"Meine  Geliebte,"  interruped  Steinhausen,  trying  to  find 
her  hand  among  the  furs  in  which  she  was  wrapped,  "  the 
-Cjre  that  you  are  free  is  too  delicious  to  leave  rooni 


TO  MAID,     WIFE,    OR    WIDOW  t 

for  anything  but  delight.  I  breathe,  I  hope  again;  tell  ma 
—tell  me  how  all  this  tissue  of  mistakes  arose."  He  had 
found  the  hand,  which,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  was 
gently  withdrawn. 

* '  When  the  Fran  Burgomeisterin  presented  you  to  us 
last  night,  you  must  have  taken  Gretenen  for  Frauleia  and 
myself  for  Frau  Ghering,  and  nothing  occurred  to  correct 
the  error.  My  own  conduct  must  have  confirmed  you  in 
your  mistake/' 

"I  see  it  all,"  cried  Steinhausen;  "but  go  on,  explain 
everything,  the  old  mystery  which  so  puzzled  me  at  Berg- 
f  elder.1' 

"Ah!  that  is  a  long  story,"  replied  his  companion,  the 
color  coming  back  to  her  cheeks,  and  a  sweet  conscious 
smile  to  her  lip,  as  she  proceeded  to  relate  the  history,  in 
terrupted  by  pertinent  questions  from  Steinhausen,  which 
drew  out  minuter  details. 

Lies,  it  appeared,  had  a  sister  a  few  years  older  than, 
herself,  to  whom  she  had  been  fondly  attached,  and  whom 
she  closely  resembled.  This  sister  was  early  married  to 
her  cousin,  the  Hauptmann  Ghering— a  very  happy  but 
short-lived  union.  At  the  end  of  two  years  the  young  wife 
was  carried  of?  by  fever,  leaving  an  infant  daughter  first 
to  afflict  and  then  to  comfort  the  bereaved  father. 

About  a  year  and  a  half  after  the  death  of  hex  sister, 
Lies  was  greatly  surprised  by  a  proposal  from  her  cousin 
that  she  should  be  that  sister's  successor,  and  mother  to  the 
little  niece  she  cherished  so  fondly.  In  Germany  such  a 
proposition  had  in  it  nothing  revolting,  and  although  Lies 
at  first,  from  a  personal  disinclination,  rejected  her 
brother-in-law's  oft'er,  she  was  over-persuaded,  especially 
by  her  mother,  to  accept  it,  stipulating  only  that  the  en 
gagement  (almost  as  serious  an  affair  in  Germany  as  a 
marriage)  should  not  be  formally  announced  until  the  sec 
ond  year  of  her  brother-in-law's  "widowhood  had  elapsed. 

Before  that  period  a  strong  conviction  had  grown  upon 
her  that  she  could  not  and  ought  not  to  complete  the  sacri 
fice  urged  upon  her  by  her  family.  At  length,  by  a  tremen 
dous  effort  of  moral  courage,  she  brought  herself  to  explain 
her  difficulties  to  the  Hauptmann  himself.  A  most  pain 
ful  struggle  ensued,  for  the  unhappy  widower  was  more  in 
love  with  her  than  she  believed,  and  angry 'beyond  de 
scription  at  his  disappointment. 

The  war  of  !66  broke  out  at  this  juncture  of  the  family 
history,  and  Lies  had  first  to  endure  the  great  trial  of 
parting  on  unfriendly  terms  from  her  cousin,  for  whom. 
she  had  a  sincere  sisterly  regard,  and  then  the  further 
grief,  when  he  lay  severely  wounded  after  Koniggrats,  of 
nis  refusal  to  permit  her  to  go  and  nurse  him,  or  to  coma 


MAW.     WIFE,    OR    WIDOW1  18 

to  Villa  Bellovue,  that  the  whole  family  might  care  for 
arid  tend  him. 

In  this  depressed  mood,  saddened  and  sobered  by  the 
disappointment  she  had  caused  to  every  one,  she  was 
roused  to  a  little  9f  her  old  playfulness  by  Clarchen's 
report  of  the  curiosity  respecting  herself  expressed  by  the 
Prussian  Bittmeister  when  looking  at  her  photograph,  and 
which  the  little  u  Bachfischchen  "  accidentally  overheard. 
1      lies  determined  that  the  intruder  should  not  be  grati 
fied  ,  and  gave  the  servants  strict  injunctions  to  that  effect. 
I  Accident,  and  her  father  and  mother's  warm  sympathy 
\  with  the  rejected  Hauptmann,  assisted  her  game,  which 
\  the  unexpected  fire  and  earnestnesss  of  her  Prussian  ad- 
*  mircr  made  more  earnest  than  she  had  anticipated.    Hav 
ing  once  mystified  him,  she  was  ashamed  to  explain,  and 
his  evident  sincerity  half  alarmed,  half  interested  her.    So 
much  she  could  not  help  acknowledging. 

Many  anxieties  and  serious  losses  followed  the  disappear 
ance  01  the  Prussian  troops,  and  amid  this  general  gloom 
her  only  gleam  of  comfort  was  the  announcement  of  her 
cousin  and  Brother-in-law's  engagement  to  a  pretty  Silesian. 
girl,  a  relative  of  the  Burgomeister,  well  connected  and 
well  dowered,  and  the  consequent  restoration  of  the  frank 
friendliness  which  used  to  exist  between  them.  Herr  Haupt- 
mann  Ghering  had  been  about  a  year  married,  and  this 
was  Lies'  first  visit  to  her  kinsman  in  his  new  home. 

All  this,  and  many  more  particulars,  answers  to  Stein- 
hausen's  questions  and  minor  explanations,  occupied  almost 
all  the  drive  back.  They  were  already  over  the  bridge 
when  Lies'  voice  sank  into  silence. 

"Tell  me,"  asked  Steinhausen,  who  had  again  taken  the 
reins,  '*  did  you  ever  think  without  indignation  of  the  auda 
cious  enemy  who  dared  to  speak  to  you  of  love  on  scarce 
twenty -four  hours'  acquaintance?  I  confess  the  memory 
of  it  appalls  myself.  Yet,  meine  Liebe,  liebe  Lies  I  it  was 
a  true  instinct,  which  urged  me  to  grasp  the  jewel  that 
seemed  within  my  reach.  Have  you  forgiven  me  yet?" 
I  **  Ah,  yes!"  saia  Lies,  and  there  was  a  sound  of  tears  m 

Iher  voice.  * '  You  were  abrupt,  and — and  perhaps  audacious ; 
but  I  think  you  were  more  in  earnest  than  I  then  be- 
,  lieved." 

."  And  I  am  as  earnest  now  as  then.  I  am  no  longer  a 
foe.  Prussian,  and  Saxon,  and  Bavarian— we  have  foughfe 
side  by  side;  we  have  suffered  and  conquered  together. 
You  have  surely  learned  to  look  on  me  as  a  countryman ; 
take  me  for  something  closer  and  dearer  still.'* 

"  But  after  all,  Herr  Major,  she  returned  in  a  very  trem 
ulous  tone,  **  we  know  very  little  of  each  other.  Would  i£ 
not  be  wiser * 


?4  MAID,     WIFE,    OR    WIDOW? 

"  Grott  in  Himmel!"  cried  Steinhausen,  "is  there  no 
Toice  in  your  heart  to  plead  lor  me ;  no  answering  instinct 
to  draw  you  to  me  as  I  have  been  fascinated  by  you?  I 
ask  you  for  life  and  home  and  happiness,  and  1  ask  to 
bestow  the  same  on  you." 

These  words  brought  them  to  the  Burgomeister's  house, 
and  Steinhausen,  without  waiting  for  a  reply,  assisted 
his  companion  to  alight,  and  felt  with  a  triumphant 
sensation  that  she  was  trembling  perceptibly.  Leaving 
his  sleigh  to  the  groom's  care,  he  followed  Lies  across  the 
,  hall  to  a  well  warmed  and  lighted  room  leading  to  the  salon. 

"'  I  wait  your  answer,1'  lie  said,  earnestly.  "Are  you  so 
indifferent — so  averse  to  me?1' 

"  I  have  tried  so  hard  not  to  think  of  you,"  said  Lies, 
softly,  a  very  sweet  smile  stealing  round  her  lips,  "  but — 
I  almost  fear — to  say " 

"Yes!"  cried  Steinhausen,  rapturously.  "Why  hesi 
tate,  why  torment  me  any  longer?"  Then  drawing  her 
to  him,  "I  claim  a  double  privilege,  as  your  bridegroom, 
and  your  sleighing  partner,"  he  said,  and  folded  her  in 
a  long,  passionate  embrace,  kissing  tenderly  the  tear 
ful  eyes  raised  to  his,  the  gentle  yielding  to  his  caresses 
speaking  consent  more  eloquently  than  any  words. 

"One  request,  my  sweetest  bride!"  exclaimed  Stein 
hausen;  "you  must  not  refuse,  for  it  is  my  first.  In  a 
month  I  must  again  be  with  my  regiment;  let  us  not  parfc 
as  betrothed,  but  as  husband  and  wife;  you  are  noble 
enough  to  rise  superior  to  trifling  considerations.  Let  us 

fo  to  the  good  father  and  mother — they  will  be  my  friends, 
am  sure— and  then,  dearest,  no  senseless  delays.    These 
are  trying  times,  and  I  shall  feel  strong  for  whatever  hap 
pens,  when  I  know  I  leave  behind  a  wife,  with  all  a  wife's 
rights  and  claims — do  you  consent  to  this  ?" 

"I  think  you  are  very  kind  and  good,"  returned  Lies, 
divining  his  object,  and  pressing  his  arm  with  shy  tender 
ness.  "  I  understand  you,  I  believe.  Let  us  be  guided  by 
what  my  parents  decide." 

But  the  brief  moment  of  quiet  was  over.  The  cracking 
of  whips,  the  sound  of  the  sleigh  bells,  the  shrill  shouting 
of  boys  and  the  glare  of  torches,  announced  the  arrival  of 
the  Burgomeister's  party,  and  Steinhausen  went  out  to 
meet  them,  while  Lies  stole  away  to  her  room. 

44  Ah!  Herr  Major,  you  have  lost  the  be*t  part,  our  torch 
light  return,"  cried  the  Burgomeister  and  the  Hauptmanu 
together. 

44  Lost !"  cried  Steinhausen,  joyously,  as  he  embraced  the 
Hauptmann,  much  to  that  gentleman's  surprise,  •*  I  hay$ 
won,  my  good  cousin!  won  all  that  I  wanted  I'*  ^,,  >.^.. 
ITHB  END,! 


MAID,    WIFE,    OH    WWOW9 


A  LADY-GUARDIAN. 


"INDIA  has  not  taken  all  traces  of  civilization  out  of 
you,  Dick." 

"Why  should  it?  Anglo-Indian  society  is— well,  if  it 
cannot  boast,  of  so  many  dukes,  marquises,  and  earls  as 
your  Belgravian  circles,  it  is  at  least  as  exclusive." 

"And  as  artificial,  I  have  no  doubt." 

"Possibly.  Where  will  you  find  nature  nowadays? 
Robinson  Crusoe's  island  does  not  exist.  Nothing  can 
stop  a  railway-contractor  or  an  advertising-agent." 

"  Or  the  ubiquitous  tourist.  But  do  you  know  I  have  a 
notion  that  nature  pure  and  undefiled  is  to  be  occasionally 
discovered  where  it  might  be  least  expected." 

"  And  where  is  that?" 

"  In  human  nature." 

"  Paradoxical  as  of  old,  Jack,"  laughed  Captain  Richard 
Trevor  of  her  Majesty's  — th  l^ot. 

"  Practical,  it  would  be  nearer  the  truth  to  say.  My 
philosophy  is  based  on  observation." 

"And  fashioned  by  your  own  kindly  heart,  which  lam 
afraid  often  invests  human  nature  with   good   qualities 
,  Vv'hieh  it  docs  not  possess." 

%  The  two  w^ere  sitting  in  Walsham's  chambers.  It  was 
f  dusk,  but  the  room  was  sufficiently  lighted  by  the  bright 
s  fire  to  enable  each  to  see  the  other's  face.  Trevor  had  been 
?  narrating  some  of  his  experiences  in  the  far  East,  Walsharn 
listening  and  occasionally  throwing  in  a  word,  half  serious- 
:  ly  and  half  whimsically,  as  was  his  wont. 

Presently  the  latter  rose,  and,  stretching  himself  lazily, 
inquired  what  Trevor  intended  to  do  with  himself  thai 
evening. 

"  Oh,  I  shall  go  to  my  rooms  and  pack  up !  You  know 
I  start  for  Clevelands  to-morrow.  I  shall  probably  stay  a 
fortnight  or  so  with  my  mother." 

"  Well,  but  packing  up  won't  take  you  more  than  half 
*n  hour.  Come  with  me  to  Mrs.  Lansdowne's." 

"And  who  is  Mrs.  Lausdowne  I" 


TO  MAW,    WIFE,    OR    WIDOW? 

"To  know  Mrs.  Lansdowne  is  to  know  everybody — that 
is  to  say,  everybody  worth  knowing.  It  is  her  *  At  home ' 
to-night,  and  she  will  be  delighted  to  catch  a  newly- 
imported  lion.  I  will  introduce  you  as  a  roost  redoubtable 
warrior,  who  with  his  own  right  hand  has  cut  oif  the 
heads  of  at  least  twenty  Afghans/* 

4 'Then  I  don't  go,"  returned  Trevor  decidedly.  •*  I  hate 
being  made  a  show  of." 

"  Then,"  laughed  Walsham,  "you  shall  appear  simply  in 
the  capacity  of  ray  friend." 

"That  is  better." 

Mrs,  Lansdowne,  Trevor  discovered,  was  a  lady  whose 
whole  aim  in  life  appeared  to  be  the  making  of  fresh  ac 
quaintances.  No  sooner  did  a  man  or  woman  make  a  name, 
whether  in  art,  literature,  or  science,  than  she  never  rested 
until  she  had  obtained  an  introduction,  and  exhibited  her 
prey  at  one  of  her  'At  homes.'  She  had  a  never-ceasing 
flow  of  small  talk,  untiring  perseverance,  and  a  certain 
amount  of  tact  which  enabled  her  to  avoid  the  shoals  and 
quicksands  to  which  her  ignorance  exposed  her.  She  was 
a  little  dark-haired  woman,  with  bright  eyes  and  mobile 
features,  and,  though  not  handsome,  was  decidedly  pre 
possessing. 

"You  have  just  come  from  India,  Mr.  Trevor  ?  I  am  so 
glad,  because  Prof  essor  Mopus  is  here  this  evening." 

Trevor  bowed,  but  did  not  look  particularly  exhilarated 
by  the  intelligence. 

"  Of  course  you  .have  heard  of  Professor  Mopus,  the  great 
Indian  explorer?  His  book  on  the  Himalaya  Mountains  is 
the  book  of  the  season— most  interesting.  You  will  get 
on  together  famously." 

"I  have  never  been  to  the  Himalayas,"  replied  Dick, 
rather  tartly. 

"  Well,  but  you've  both  been  in  India,"  went  on  the  un 
daunted  Mrs/ Lansdowne.  *' You'll  find  the  Professor 
charming.  Ah,  there  he  is !" 

And  Mrs.  Lansdowne  darted  toward  a  short  fat  man  with 
a  bald  head  and  a  black  bea/d,  who  was  talking  with  great 
vigor  to  an  admiring  knot  of  listeners. 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  Jack,  get  me  away  from  here !  The 
woman's  a  perfect  ogress  1" 

Walsham  laughed,  and  slipping  his  arm  in  his  friend's, 
mingled  with  the  crowd ;  and,  some  fresh  arrivals  coming 
in  at  the  moment,  Mrs.  Landowne's  attention  was  fully 
occupied,  and  she  thought  no  more  of  Trevor  and  the  Pro 
fessor. 

."I  breathe  more  freely,"  ejaculated  Trevor,  when  a 
compact  mass  of  at  least  a  dozen  persons  separated  aim 


MAID,     WIFE,    OR    WIDOW*  77 

from  the  indefatigable  lady.  "What  an  infliction  she 
must  be  to  her  liusoand  —  if  she  has  one  !" 

"He  takes  it  very  easily—  draws  cheques  and  says  noth 
ing.  You'll  him  somewhere  about,  looking  rather  miser 
able,  He's  an  inoffensive  creature  who  does  as  he  is  told  ; 
and  what  more  can  a  wife  want  1" 

Trevor  was  wearied  by  the  incessant  din—  for,  as  it  seem 
ed  to  him,  everybody  was  trying  to  talk  down  everybody 
else—  and  gladly  hailed  the  h'aren  of  a  recess  wherein  was 
a  seat  from  which  he  could  see  the  greater  part  of  the 
room. 

"  Do  you  not  want  to  be  introduced  to  any  of  the  celeb- 
jritioMf'  inquired  Walsham  airily,  as  he  seated  himself  by 
Ihe  Bide  of  his  friend. 

"I  hate  celebrities,"  rejoined  Trevor.  "I  never  know 
tvhcther  to  be  awestruck  or  familiar  when  Tm  with 
them." 

"  Well,  then,  what  do  you  say  to  beauty?  There  are 
—  yen,  I  should  say  at  least  two  beautiful  women  in  the 
room." 

"  3  detest  beautiful  women.  They  are  invariably 
Tai3i,n 

Walsham  gave  a  low  whistle. 

"Dick,"  said  he,  "you  were  confiding  enough  to  me 
this  afternoon;  but  I  don't  think  you  confessed  every 
thing.  You  have  been  hard  hit  in  India—  some  dusl£y 
damsel  —  eh?" 

"j  oph  —  nonsense!"  returned  Trevor,  his  brown  cheek 
assuming  a  warmth  of  color  which  betrayed  him.  "  You're 
out,  c!0  far  as  dusky  damsels  are  concerned.  The  fact  is  — 
•wel'j,  I  don't  know"why  I  should  not  own  at  once'  that  I 
'have  been  made  a  fool  of." 

"  Every  man  is  once  in  his  life,  and  generally  oftener," 
remarked  Walsham. 

"  Once  is  quite  enough  for  me.  Here's  the  whole  story. 
Our-  regiment  was—  previous  to  being  ordered  to  India— 
quartered  for  about  three  months  at  Maidstone.  It's  tha 
old  tale—  love,  parting,  tears,  kisses,  vows.  Eight  years 
go  over,  and  I  come  back  with  a  mad  belief  that  there  is 
truth  and  constancy  in  women,  and  -  " 

"You  find  her  Mrs.  Smith  or  Robinson—  fat,  and  inter 
ested  in  nothing  but  Tommy's  whooping-cough  and  Polly's 


"Well,  it  was  something  like  it.  I  must  confess  I  was 
thoroughly  freed  from  my  illusion." 

**  Of  course  you  were—nor  will  it  be  the  last  time,  old 
man," 

"  Indeed  it  will—  that  way.  I've  made  up  my  mind  riot 
to  marry." 


7S  MAID,    WIFE,    OR    WIDOW f 

Walsham  did  not  reply,  but  elevated  his  eyebrows  in  a 
quizzical  fashion,  and  then  said,  apparently  a  propos  of 
nothing: 

"Yes,  she  is  an  extremely  handsome  girl/v 

Dick  started.  While  he  had  been  narrating  his  disap 
pointment,  his  eyes  had  wandered  to  a  group  of  half  a  dozen 
men  surrounding  a  young  lady  who  was  talking  with  great 
animation.  She  was  a  little  above  the  middle  height,  with 
a  figure  exquisitely  proportioned;  her  features  had 
scarcely  sufficient  regularity  to  be  called  perfect,  but  this 
•was  fully  compensated  for  by  the  brightness  of  her  smile 
and  the  sparkling  light  in  her  dark  violet  eyes.  There  was 
no  reason  why  Dick  Trevor  should  have  started:  but  it 
might  have  been  because  his  friend  had  so  accurately  in 
terpreted  his  thoughts. 

"You  ought  to  know  Miss  Merivaile.  She  is  a  neighbor 
of  yours  at  Clevelands,"  went  on  Walsham. 

"  I  don't  remember  the  name." 

"Ah,  very  likely!  They  came  to  live  there  since  you 
went  away.  She  is  an  awfully  clever  girl,  is  a  believer  in 
Darwin  and  Herbert  Spencer,  and  has  written  a  pamphlet 
on  the  electoral  disabilities  of  women." 

"  Good  Heaven,  Walsham,  what  a  pity !  I  think  strong- 
minded  women  intolerable." 

"Well,  some  are,  I  admit;  but  there  are  exceptions. 
Come— let  me  introduce  you  to  Miss  Merivaile,  and  you 
shall  judge  for  yourself." 

Trevor  hesitated.  He  had  a  horror  of  "  blue-stockings.1* 
At  the  same  time  he  could  not  but  own  that  there  was 
nothing  of  the  "  blue-stocking  "  in  the  appearance  of  the 
young  lady  in  question ;  even  her  hair  was  not  cut  short, 
but  neatly  arranged  in  a  classic  knot  at  the  back  of  her 
head. 

Walsham,  however,  disregarded  his  feeble  protests.    He 
found  himself  urged  forward;  and  the  next  moment  he 
was  plunged  into  a  conversation  with  Miss  Merivaile,  for 
Walsham  had  luckily  selected  a  moment  when  the  group  « 
hitherto  surrounding  the  lady  had  broken  up. 

*'  We  are  discussing  the  question  of  the  relief  of  the  poor, 
Captain  Trevor,"  said  Miss  Merivaile.  "What  are  *your 
views  on  the  subject  2" 

*"Pon   my    word,"  rejoined    Dick,   somewhat  aghast, 

— er — really  know  nothing  about  it.  The  beggars  in  the 
streets  are  an  awful  nuisance ;  but  I  find  it  saves  trouble  to 
give  them  a  few  pence  at  once,  rather  than  to  have  them 
cackling  after  one  for  half  a  mile  or  more." 

"Ah,  that  is  the  way  thoughtless  persons  pauperize  the 
country !  Nothing  is  more  pernicious  than  indiscriminate 
almsgiving." 


MAID,     WIFE,    OR    VSIDbJPt  TO 

-Captain  Trevor  drew  himself  up  a  little  stiffly.  He  rather 
objected  to  be  classed  as  a  "thoughtless  person,  "especially 
by  a  young  lady  at  least  five  years  his  junior.  But,  though 
he  was  nettled,  he  could  not  kelp  thinking  how  well  that- 
earnest  expression  became  Miss  Merivaile's  eyes. 

"Do  you  intend  to  stay  long  in  England?"  asked  Miss 
Merivaile  presently. 

"  Probably  two  or  three  years." 

"  Then  I  should  advise  you  to  put  up  for  guardian  on  the 
Clovelands  Board.  I  was  elected  last  year,  and  intend  to 
come  forward  again." 

Trevor  stared.  Did  he  actually  hear  Miss  Merivaile  say 
she  was  a  guardian  of  the  poor?  "Surely  there  must  be  some 
mistake ! 

"  I— I  beg  your  pardon— but  I  don't  quite  understand." 

"  Oh,  there's  no  difficulty  in  understanding  the  duties! 
Unfortunately  we  guardians  are  allowed  so  little  latitude 
by  the  Local  Government  Board  that  everything  is  simply 
a  matter  of  routine. " 

Dick  gasped  for  breath.    His  ears  had  not  deceived  him. 

"But  do  you  mean  to  say  that  you— a  lady  "—he  very 
nearly  said  "  female  "— "  are  a  guardian  of  the  poor?" 

"Certainly,"  returned  Rhoda  Merivaiie  serenely.  "I 
am  also  a  member  of  the  Clovesdon  School-Board. " 

Worse  and  worse!  Trevor  was  dumfounded,  his  con 
fusion  being  increased  by  the  amused  smile  which  was 
dancing  in  Miss  Merivaile  s  eyes. 

"I— I  am  afraid  that  my  notions  are  rather  old-fash 
ioned,  Miss  Merivaile,"  he  stammered. 

"  You  mean  that  you  do  not  approve  of  women  taking 
an  active  interest  in  the  social  and  moral  progress  of  the 
poor." 

"Well — er — I  am  not  sure  that  I  have  thought  very 
much  about  the  matter.  I  confess  that  years  ago  is 
seemed  to  me  the  chief  object  in  life  which  young  ladies 
had  was  to  get  married ;  but  I  suppose  ail  that's  changed 
now." 

Dick  Trevor  looked  up  suddenly,  and  their  eyes  met. 
"Was  it  his  imagination,  or  did  he  see  a  faint  blush  on  the 
fair  cheek  of  Rhoda  Merivaile? 

"Not  quite,  I  think, "she  answered,  calmly.  "There  is 
still  much  to  labor  and  hope  for  in  the  improvement  of 
women's  ideas." 

"  Confound  it!"  was  Dick's  mental  comment.  t!  I  won 
der  whether  she  regards  old-maidism  as  woman's  proper 
rphere?"  Yet  he  could  not  but  confess  that  no  one  could 
look  less  like  an  old  maid  than  Miss  Merivaile.  "  Weil," 
said  he  aloud,  "I  dare  say  you  are  right;  but  I  hope 
will  not  find  fault  with  me  if  I  prefer  the  woman, 


€0  MAID,     WIFE,    OR    WIDOW? 

of  the  old  school,  whose  ambition  it  was  to  be  the 
cook,  the  best  needlewoman— -in  short,  the  best  wife  i 
world.'' 

Had  Walsham  overheard  him,  he  would  have  been 
amused,  for  Dick  was  absolutely  enthusiastic.  AH  his 
cynical  philosophy  of  half  an  hour  before  had  disap 
peared. 

"  In  other  words,  that  she  may  be  a  useful  slave  to  her 
husband,"  Miss  Merivaile  remarked  quietly. 

' '  Substitute  'companion'  for  'slave, 'and  I  agree  with 
you.  I  can  scarcely  imagine  a  lady-doctor,  or — or ' 

'  Or  a  lady  member  of  a  Board  of  Guardians,11  put  in 
Mi«fe  Merivaile. 

"  I  would  rather  say  an  authoress,"  said  Trevor,  a  little 
awkwardly,  for  the  suggestion  of  Miss  Merivaile  was  cer 
tainly  on  his  lips,  and  he  held  checked  it  only  in  time. 

"  Well?"  said  Rhoda,  with  a  provoking  composure  which 
did  not  lessen  his  embarrassment. 

"  What  I  was  about  to  say  was  that  I  did  not  think 
ladies  whose  time  and  attention  were  so  fully  occupied 
with  the  affairs  of  other  people  could  interest  themselves 
sufficiently  in  domestic  matters  to  make  good  wives." 

It  was  not  a  very  gallant  speech  in  the  circumstances, 
and  Trevor  felt  it  was  not,  for  he  added  immediately  after 
word — 

"Forgive  me  if  I  speak  my  thoughts  too  plainly/' 

"  ]  am  grateful  that  you  have  been  honest  enough  to  say 
what  you  think.  I  hope  some  day  you  may  have  reason 
to  change  your  opinion." 

Trevor  would  have  proceeded  further  in  his  apology,  for 
there  was  a  seriousness  about  the  young  lady's  manner 
which  made  him  think  he  had,  despite  her  words,  really 
offejided  her.    However,  at  that  moment  Mrs.  Lansdowne 
came  up  and  bore  away  Rhoda  in  triumph  to  the  piano 
forte.    Miss  Merivaile  was  an  accomplished  musician ;  and  .  - 
the  next  minute  a  subdued  hush  went  round  the  room  'si 
preparatory  to  a  performance  of  Beethoven's  "  Moonlight'*  / 
sonata. 

"Let  us  go,  Walsham,"  whispered  Trevor,  after  five 
minutes  of  Beethoven.  "  My  neighbor  Miss  Merivaile  may 
fee  very  nice ;  but  she  is  too  clever  for  my  taste.  Just  im 
agine  what  it  would  be  to  be  her  husband !" 

The  next  day  Dick  Trevor  was  speeding  toward  Devon 
shire  in  the  Flying  Dutchman. 

11  It  is  pleasant  to  be  here  once  more,  mother,"  said  he, 
a#  lie  lounged,  pipe  in  mouth  and  bands  in  pockets,  from, 
tiifi  garden  into  the  sunny  morning-room  shortly  after  his 
arrival.  "The  old  place  has  not  changed  a  bit,  excepting 
that  the  box-trees  are  perceptibly  larger." 


MAID,    WIFE,    OR    WIDOW f  81 

,  Gt~<}r,  why  should  it?  Your  father  was  perfectly 
contented  w*th  it  as  it  is,  and  so  am  I.  But  Clevesdon  is 
not  what  it  WBS.  There  has  been  a  great  deal  of  building; 
a  railway  Ivs  been  brought  to  the  place;  there  is  a  large 
manufactory  which  fills  the  valley  with  smoke  from  its 
dreadful  chtomeys,  and  there  is  actually  a  Board-school. 

.'  Really,  if  I  K.&d  not  lived  in  Clevesdon  for  so  many  years, 

i  I  should  be  kjclined  to  move.1' 

\      ' '  What  a  si ,ame !  By-the- way,  mother,  talking  of  Sclxool- 

i  Boards,  I  hea  •  that  we  rejoice  in  the  possession  of  a  lady- 
member.** 


part.    I'm  thankful  to  say 
for  her.    You.  Cannot  imagine  what  a  scandal  it  caused ." 

"No  doubt,'  returned  JDick.  "But  did  she  hold  meet 
ings  and  speak  '' 

•'  Of  course-  wid  actually  contradicted  the  Rector  to  his 
face!  I  canno\  think  what  women  are  coming  to  nowa 
days.  I'm  sure  such  boldness  would  not  have  been  toler 
ated  when  I  wai  young.  And  then  to  have  one's  nanao  in 
the  Clevesdon  Ji  urnal  every  week  and  positively  written 
about !  My  dea  *,  think  of  that !" 

This,  to  Mrs.  Trevor's  mind,  capped  everything.  The 
report  of  the  pro  jeedings  of  the  School  Board  was,  in  her 
opinion,  very  mi  eh  the  same  thing  as  the  report  OL  fche 
cases  at  the  Quai  ter  and  Petty  Sessions. 

Dick  felt  very  \  auch  inclined  to  argue  tli3  point  with  hjs 
mother,  despite  tLe  fact  that  not  forty-eight  hours  before 
he  had  enunciated  sentiments  to  Miss  Merivaile  herself  not 
very  far  removed  .from  those  just  expressed  by  Mrs.  Tre 
vor.  But  he  alte  ,ed  his  mind,  and,  once  more  stepping 
into  the  garden,  sauntered  to  the  stables,  and  spent  the 
remainder  of  the  Corning  in  a  "  horsy  "  conference  with 
Roger,  the  old  coao"unan. 

Of  course  it  did  n jt  matter  to  him  what  Miss  Merivaita 
chose  to  do.  Why  should  it?  And  there  was  nofc  any 
reason  either  why,  i  a  the  following  Saturday,  he  sbottda 
buy  the  Clevesdon  Journal  and  feel  disappointed  because 
her  name  was  not  ar^ong  the  list  of  members  who  attended 
;  at  the  week's  meeting  $  of  the  guardians  and  School-Board. 

"  Pooh  I"  he  mutteivOd  as  he  walked  home.  "What  an 
idiot  I  am  to  interest  rayself  in  a  strong-minded  woman — 
I,  who  hate  the  very  \  $une !" 

And,  as  if  to  empli^  ize  this  assertion,  he  strode  along 
the  road  at  a  furious  pace,  oblivious  of  everything  and 
everybody,  or  he  must  lave  noticed  a  quietly  dressed  lady, 
with  a  decidedly  coun  rified  air,  who  passed  him  with  a 
sidelong  glance  from  h  r  bright  eyes. 


8S  MAID,    WIFE,    OR    WIDOWf 

Nothing  happens  but  the  unforeseen ;  and  so  it  came  about 
that  a  bicyclist,  trying  to  pass  a  carriage-and-pair  in  a  nar 
row  part  of  the  road,  went  too  near  to  the  horses  and  caus 
ed  them  to  take  fright.  The  shouts  of  the  coachman  made 
Dick  Trevor  turn  round.  He  caught  sight  of  the  lady 
standing,  as  though  paralyzed,  in  the  path  of  the  advanc 
ing  animals,  and  with  a  soldier-like  promptness  rushed  to 
her  assistance. 

His  aid,  however,  was  scarcely  needed,  for  the  driver 
managed  to  recover  the  control  of  his  horses,  and  all 
danger  was  past  by  the  time  he  had  reached  her.  Still  the 
incident  served  to  bring  them  together,  and  Trevor  conse 
quently  found  himself  face  to  face  with  the  lady. 

44  You  have  had  a  narrow  escape,"  he  was  beginning, 
when  he  suddenly  stopped.  "Miss  Merivaile!"  he  ex 
claimed  involuntarily. 

But  the  lady  did  not  return  his  salutation.  She  looked 
pale — the  result  no  doubt  of  the  fright.  It  was  natural ; 
but  what  was  not  natural  was  that  she  did  not  appear  to 
recognize  him. 

"  I  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  you  at  Mrs.  tiansdowne's 
a  week  or  so  ago." 

"  Indeed!  I  think  you  must  mistake  me  for  Rhoda.  I 
remember  she  wrote  home  that  she  had  been  visiting 
there." 

"If  you  are  not  Miss  Rhoda  Merivaile,  you  must  surely 
be  her  sister.  I  never  saw  so  extraordinary  a  resemblance," 
said  Dick. 

44  Yes,"  replied  the  lady,  with  a  strong  Devonshire  accent. 
"I  am  thought  to  be  greatly  like  Rhoda." 

"The likeness  is  wonderful;  and  yet,  now  I  look  at  you, 
I  can  see  a  difference.  Your  hair,  for  instance,  is  different 
ly  arranged.  But  I  ought  to  introduce  myself,  especially 
as  I  understand  we  are  neighbors.  My  name  is  Trevor — 
probably  you  know  my  mother?" 

"Oh,  yes;  and  I  have  heard  of  you,  Captain  Trevor!" 

Captain  Trevor  felt  pleased.  There  was  a  delightful 
naivete  about  Miss  Merivaile's  sister  which  attracted  him, 
far  more  than  the  composure — the  result  of  what  he  termed^ 
"self-conscious  cleverness"  of  the  lady-guardian.  The 
latter  had  piqued  his  vanity,  her  sister  had  gratified  it. 

He  walked  by  her  side  chatting  about  nothing  ir  par 
ticular— at  least,  he  could  not  remember  afterward  wli&t 
he  hadsaid ;  but  he  knew  the  electoral  disabilities  of  women 
were  never  once  alluded  to,  nor  was  the  condition  of  the 
poor  even  hinted  at. 

Presently  they  arrived  at  an  old-fashioned  ivy-covered 

frnm   t,h«  crarrlpn  nf  whinli    nnmA    t.TiA   RWA.pt.  Rnonf.  rv? 


JK4ZD,     WIFE,    OR    WIDOWf  83 


iralifiowera— for  it  was  in  the  early  spring;  and  Miss 

vaile  stopped  at  the  gate. 

,     *  I  hope,"  said  Captain  Trevor,  "  we  shall  be  friends.'' 

(I  hope  so  too." 

"    '  By  Jove,  she's  charming!"   thought  Dick.     "Might  I 
lake  the  liberty  of  calling?"  said  he  aloud. 

1 1  daresay  aunt  would  be  pleased  to  see  you." 
'I  see— two  sisters  living  with  their  aunt!    Wonder  if 
4  there's  an  objectionable  brother?"  reflected  the  captain. 

He  would  have  liked  to  linger,  for  she  was  very  pleasant 
|  to  talk  to;  but  she  put  out  her  hand,  and  he  was  compelled 
•  to  take  it  and  say  '"Good-bye." 

"She  has  all  the  good  qualities  of  Rhoda  Merivaile  with 
out  the  least  tinge  of  the  blue  stocking!"  exclaimed  the 
gallant  captain  enthusiastically  as  he  walked—this  time 
slowly — home. 

Hitherto  Clevesdon  had  been  insufferably  dull— even 
the  mild  excitement  of  anticipating  Rhoda's  speeches  in 
the  newspaper  had  failed  him;  but  now  here  was  an 
irresistible  attraction. 

' '  I  suppose  her  sister  hasn't  returned  from  town  yet. 
Wonder  what  her  Christian  name  is?  No  matter;  1  am 
bound  to  hear  it  when  I  call." 

And  call  accordingly  Captain  Trevor  did— and  not  once, 
but  thrice.  He  made  the  gratifying  discovery  that  Lucy 
Merivaile  was  as  domesticated  as  the  most  exacting  Ccelebs 
could  wish.  Her  pastry  was  perfection ;  her  needlework 
might  have  been  that  of  a  nun ;  her  taste  in  music  was 
not  classical,  and  she  preferred  Balfe  to  Beethoven.  In 
short,  he  was  head  over  heels  in  love ;  and  he  flattered 
himself  that,  as  he  expressed  it,  he  was  not  altogether  in 
different  to  her. 

A  fortnight  passed,  and  by  the  end  of  that  time  it  had 
become  quite  part  of  Trevor's  daily  occupation  to  call  at 
Laurel  Lodge;  and,  as  Miss  Dangerfield— Lucie's  aunt — 
was  deaf,  it  naturally  fell  to  the  lot  of  her  niece  to  enter- 
t&in  the  visitor. 

"You  rnet  Rhoda  in  London,  Captain  Trevor?"  said 
Lueie,  as  they  strolled  up  and  down  the  lawn  after  a  game 
of  lawn-tennis,  in  which  the  young  lady  proved  herself  to 
be  more  than  proficient. 

M  Yes,  I  had  that  pleasure.  In  fact,  I  cannot  congratu 
late  myself  sufficiently  upon  my  good  fortune  in  so  doing, 
aw  I  was  enabled  to  recognize  you  when  we  first  met." 
VV  And  how  did  you  get  on  with  her?"  said  Miss  Merivaile, 
taking  no  notice  of  the  implied  compliment.  "Did  she  j^ 
frighten  you?" 

4  •  Almost,  I  must  confess.    Isn't  it  rather  dreadful  wuea 


84  MAID.     WIFE,    OR    WIDOWf 

she  ig  at  home?    I  suppose  she  is  at  work  all  da}  long,  i*,al 
looks  daggers  at  any  one  who  makes  the  least  n»  rse? 

"  Of  course  she  doesn't  like  to  be  disturbed  wi  ?n  she  ic 
bue;y— no  one  does.  But  we  get  on  very  well  togi  ther." 

* '  Ah,  that  is  the  advantage  of  opposite  tastes !  '  suppose 
yoar  Bister  never  interferes  in  household  affairs?" 

u  Well,  she  is  a  good  deal  engaged  in  other  ways  laughed 
Lucie ;  "  and  making  puddings  does  not  quite  go  w  v,k  mak 
ing  speeches." 

' '  My  own  opinion,  Miss  Merivaiie.  But  does  not  having 
seen  you  fourteen  times  at  least  justify  me  in  calli  g  you 
*  Lueje '  ?" 

"  Certainly  not  " 

"Well,  then,  Miss  Merivaiie,  may  I  say  how  'jhai  aed  I 
am  that  you  do  not  go  in  for  the  'amelioration  *  I  the 
working  classes  '—I  believe  that  is  the  phrase— like  your 
eister  ?" 

*  Oh,  I  would  not  be  too  sure  about  that !  Rhodat  you 
know,  might  persuade  me  to  become  a  guardian  like  her- 
.self— -which,  by- the- way,  reminds  me  that  I  must  say  4  >od« 
bye.  to  you." 

"  Good-bye!"  he  repeated,  with  a  puzzled  expression. 

"  Yes;  Rhoda  is  coming  home,  and  I  am  going  to  R  ri* 
for  three  months." 

Three  months !    It  was  an  eternity. 

"  1  hope  the  time  will  be  sufficient  for  Rhoda  to 'conyii  ie 
you  of  the  correctness  of  her  views  on  the  woman's  rigH  a 
question,"  she  added,  demurely. 

"  But,  Miss  Merivaiie " 

' '  There— I  must  go  to  aunt  now.  I  have  much  to  dc,  4  \ 
I  start  to-morrow."  But  he  detained  her  hand,  and  sli  » 
was  forced  to  stay. 

"'Miss  Merivaiie,"  said  he  hurriedly,  "one  word.  I  hav\ 
something  to  say  which,  now  that  you  are  going  away,  1 
can  no  longer  keep  to  myself.  I  love  you.  Will  you  bi 
my  Ydfe?" 

'She  started  and  turned  away  her  head.  When  sh< 
looked  at  him  again,  her  face  was  white. 

"No,  nol"  she  exclaimed  faintly.  "You  must  not  ask 
me  to  be  that,  Captain  Trevor." 

"Why  not  I  Am  I  too  late?"  His  suppressed  feelings 
gave  almost  a  fierceness  to  his  tone,  and,  as  though  he  were 
conscious  of  it,  he  added,  in  a  gentle  voice,  u  I  have  be«E 
too  precipitate  and  frightened  you.  Forgive  me  1" 

I  have  nothing  to  forgive.    I  should  rather  ask  you  tf 
forgive  me.    I  never  suspected " 

Sjae  paused  and  turned  away  her  head. 

"You  never  suspected  I  loved  you?"  he  said  quickly. 
"  But,  now  that  I  swear  that  I  do,  what  is  your  answer r 


MAID,    WIFE,    OR    WIDOW?  8S 

"  I  cannot  give  any  answer  but  *  No,' "  she  replied ;  and 
then  she  turned  and  ran  into  the  house. 

Dick  stood  motionless  for  a  moment,  gulped  down  some 
thing  which  would  stick  in  his  throat,  and  walked  slowly 
to  the  garden  gate. 

Dick  Trevor  was  terribly  dejected.  Like  most  impulsive 
;  men,  he  was  as  easily  depressed  as  exhilarated;  and  for 
the  next  three  days  after  his  repulse  life  was  in  his  eyes  a 
miserable  mistake. 

Nor  was  there  any  consolation  when  Ehoda  Merivaila 
arrived.  While  walking  to  Clevesdon,  he  saw  her  in  the 
,i  distance  coming  toward  him.  He  knew  her  directly,  in 
*  spite  of  her  smoke-colored  glasses  and  short-cut  hair,'  and 
;  would  have  avoided  her  if  he  could ;  but  there  was  no  pos 
sibility  of  so  doing  without  appearing  rude. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Captain  Trevor  ?y'  said  she,  when  they 
got  within  speaking  distance. 

He  started.  The  voice  was  so  like  Lucy's  that,  had 
he  had  his  eyes  closed,  he  would  certainly  have  said  ifc 
was  hers. 

"Thank  you,  I  am  quite  well." 

"  I  have  just  come  from  a  relief-committee  at  the  work 
house,"  said  she,  in  a  matter-of-fact  tone.  "I  trust  that 
we  shall  see  you  on  the  board  next  year." 

"I  think  not,"  he  returned.  " Confound  the  board !"  he 
muttered  to  himself.  ' '  It's  a  perfect  nuisance. " 

"I  should  be  very  pleased  to  lend  you  the  reports  of 
the  Local  Government  Board  for  the  last  ten  years.  You'd 
find  no  difficulty  in  making  yourself  acquainted  with  the 
subject. 

"  I'm  much  obliged,"  he  began. 

"  Don't  mention  it.  Ill  send  them  to  you  this  evening. 
I  have  an  appointment  at  home  with  the  School-Board 
visitor,  so  Im  sure  you'll  excuse  my  running  away. 
Good-afternoon." 

"Good  Heaven!"  ejaculated  the  unfortunate  captain, 
gazing  in  blank  astonishment  at  the  energetic  little  lady's 
retreating  figure.  ' '  The  woman's  determined  to  make  a 
guardian  of  me,  whether  I  will  or  not.  If  this  goes 
much  further,  I  shall  have  to  fly  to  town.  And  to  thiiik 
that  she  is  sister  to  the  most  lovable,  the  most  unaffected, 
the  most Oh,  hang  it !" 

Miss  Merivaile  was  as  good  as  her  word,  for  about  seven 
o'clock  that  evening  a  servant  arrived  with  a  pile  of  books 
bound  in  stiff  paper  covers  of  a  repellent  blue.  Dick  gave 
a  sigh  of  despair  when  he  saw  them. 

"Shall  I  take  them  to  your  room,  sir  ?"  asked  his  man. 

*  'Put  them  anywhere,  Simmons — m  the " — **  fire "  he  was 
going  to  add-— "yea,  take 


88  MAID,    WIFE,    OR    WIDOW  f 

And  up-stairs  they  were  accordingly  carried. 

During  the  next  two  days  he  kept  within  doors,  for  fear 
of  meeting  his  self-appointed  tutor.  But  this  only  made 
matters  worse.  There  was  a  horrible  fascination  about 
Rhoda,  Merivaile  which  made  him  long  to  see  her  again. 
Besides,  he  had  another  reason.  After  his  first  burst  of  de 
spair  consequent  upon  Lucie's  refusal  came  a  reaction. 
Perhaps  he  had  been  too  sudden.  Lucie  had  not  said  sha 
loved  anybody  else ;  and,  if  he  could  only  see  her  again, 
who  could  tell,  but  that  her  answer  might  be  different  ?  It» 
was  not  the  first  time  a  woman  had  said  "  No  "  when  she 
meant  "Yes."  At  any  rate,  if  he  interrogated  Rhoda 
cautiously,  he  might  find  out  the  true  state  of  the  case. 
And  so  he  took  care  to  be  out  about  the  time  when  he 
thought  he  should  be  likely  to  meet  her. 

His  judgment  was  not  at  fault,  for,  after  smoking  a 
couple  of  cigars,  he  saw  the  lady-guardian  tripping  along 
at  a  most  business-like  pace.  Really,  he  thought,  if  it  were 
not  for  the  hideous  spectacles  and  the  different  arrange 
ment  of  the  hair,  and  a  certain  negligent  way  of  wearing 
her  garments,  there  would  not  be  much  to  choose  between 
the  two  sisters  in  looks. 

He  raised  his  hat  when  she  approached,  and  she  bowed 
in  acknowledgement,  but  did  not  seem  inclined  to  stop. 

"  Miss  Merivaile!"  said  he,  hastening  after  her. 

"I'm  afraid  I  haven't  time  to  speak  to  you  this  morning, 
Captain  Trevor, "  she  answered,  scarcely  looking  round. 
"1  have  a  most  important  meeting  I  must  attend,  and  I 
am  rather  late." 

"Oh,  certainly!  said  Dick  gruffly, 

He  returned  home  in  great  ill-humor,  and,  with  a  deter 
mination  not  to  think  any  more  about  the  name  of  Meri 
vaile,  took  his  gun,  and  covered  some  twenty  miles  before 
he  again  reached  home.  The  exercise  counteracted  his  ill- 
temper,  but  did  not  take  away  his  intense  desire  to  hear  of 
Lucie  Merivaile. 

Two  mornings  successively  he  contrived  to  meet  Rhoda, 
but  each  time  she  was  in  as  great  a  hurry  as  ever.  Then 
he  took  a  desperate  resolution.  He  would  call  at  Laurel 
Lodge  and  extract  some  information  from  Miss  Danger- 
field,  in  spite  of  her  deafness.  He  selected  a  time  when  he 
thought  Rhoda  would  be  away,  and  was  accordingly 
ushered  into  the  presence  of  Miss  Dangerfi eld,  who  received 
him  cordially. 

"You  have  almost  deserted  us,  Captain  Trevor,"  said 
she. 

'*  I  have  been  lately  a  good  deal  engaged,"  he  shouted. 

"  J  am  very  glad  to  hear  it,"  nodded  the  old  lady.  "  There 


MAID,     WIFE,    OR    WIDOW* 

And  who  is 


MAID,     WIFE,    OR    WTDOWf 

sno  too  was    wearing  the   odious    srnoke-colorad 
gl-tsses. 

"  By  Jove,  it's  the  other  one,  after  ail!  ,  And  yet,."'  lie 
muttered.     ''Miss  Mevivaile,"  he  exclaimed  aloud,  in 
peraticn,  '  '  in  mercy  ''s  name,  tell  me  who  you  are  !    Are  y  :•  -  ; 
JLucie  or  Rhoda?" 

'l  Both,"  returned  the  young  lady  quietly.     "  It  is  only  j 
little  joke.  Captain  Trevor.     I  apologize  for  deceiving 
but  I  could  not  resist  refuting  practically  your  opinion 
that  women  who  interested  themselves  in  public  m, 
could  not  find  time  for  domestic  duties." 

''And  you  have  converted  me  entire!  3^.  I  will  : 
again  contradict  you  on  that  point.  But,  Rhoda  —  th 
I  mean  Lucie  --  " 

He  stopped.  The^e  was  a  look  on  the  girl's  face  v 
checked  Ibis  utterance.  He  drew  a  lon£  breath. 

"I  see,"  said  he  bitterly.     "  It  is  an  honor  I  did  no-      i 
pect,  to  afford  you  so  much  amusement.    Of  course 
you  said  in  your  impersonation  of  Lucie  Merivaile 


a  joke.     It  v/as  very  amusing  —  oh,  exceedingly  funny  '  — 
and  will  make  an  excellent  story  to  be  retailed  a  5 
Lansdowne's  next  reception.    Indeed  I  do  not  see  why  il 
should  not  figure  in  the  next  number  of  the  Bay± 
Budget  /" 

Rhoda  Lucie—  for  such  was  her  full  name—  remained 
pilent.  She  had  risen  while  lie  was  speaking,  and  v^a* 
standing  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  floor. 

"Good-bye,"  said  he,  holding  out  his  hand. 

She  hesitated,  and  then  held  out  hers. 

"Can  you  forgive  me?"'  she  murmured. 

"There  is  nothing  to  forgive,"  said  he  simply.  "You 
were  quite  at  liberty  to  jest,  if  it  so  pleased  you.  I  wa* 
fool  enough  to  be  deceived  —  that  is  all." 

"Am  I  the  only  one  who  deceived?"  said  she  calmly, 
though  he  could  feel  her  fingers  throb  as  she  asked  th* 
question. 

'"I  do  not  understand  you." 

"  Is  it  not  deception  when  a  man  who  is  engaged  to  oru 
Iv  iy  makes  love,  or  pretends  to  make  love,  to  another^ 

He  stared  at  her  in  a  bewildered  fashion,  and  then  a  si;d 
den  light  broke  in  upon  him,  and  he  burst  into  a  shout  3 
laughter. 

"I  see  now  what  you  mean.  Your  aunt  told  you  I  WAI 
engaged." 

'  '  She  simply  told  me  what  you  told  her," 

"  But  I  never  said  BO.    It  was  all  a  mistake,  causes 
through  her  deafness.    Lucie  —  I  like  that  name  best  — 
you  in  earnest  when  you  said  '  No*  to  my  question  2" 

""Xes;  I  did  not  tliiafe—  ^-n 


if  AID,     WIFE,    0x3    WIDOW?  88 

'  "  I  should  fall  in  love  ?    Your  jest  has  ended  seriously- 
for  me,"  he  added  with  a  sigh. 

"  I  had  hoped  that  Rhoda  Merivaile  would  have  dispelled 
the  illusion,  said  she  quietly.  "She  tried  to  do  so." 

4i  And  failed  miserably." 

He  was  looking  into  her  eyes  as  he  said  the  words,  and 
noted  an  expression  in  them  which  caused  a  flame  of  hope 
to  leap  into  his  heart. 

"  Rhoda/'  said  he  suddenly,  "supposing  I  were  to  put  to 
you  the  question  I  asked  of  Lucie  i  Corne — I  will  try  you  f 
Will  you  be  my  wife  ?" 

"Shall  I  be  intensely  practical  and  strong-minded  in  my 
"  said  she,  with  a  glad  smile  playing  about  her  lips. 

[THS  END.] 


THE  MARK  OF  CAIN 


BY  ANDREW  LANG 


CHAPTER  I. 

A  TALE  OF  TWO  CLUBS. 
*'  Such  arts  the  gods  who  dwell  on  high 
Have  given  to  the  Greek." 

Lays  of  Ancient  Rom*?. 

IN  the  Strangers'  Room  of  the  Olympic  Club  the  air  was  thick 
•with  tobacco-smoke,  and,  despite  the  bitter  cold  outside,  the 
temperature  was  uncomfortably  high.  Dinner  was  over,  and 
the  guests,  broken  up  into  little  groups,  were  chattering  noisily. 
No  one  had  yet  given  any  sign  of  departing;  no  one  had  offered 
a  welcome  apology  for  the  need  of  catching  an  evening  train. 

Perhaps  the  civilized  custom  which  permits  women  to  dine  in 
the  presence  of  the  greedier  sex  is  the  proudest  conquest  of  Cul 
ture.  Were  it  not  for  the  excuse  of  •'  joining  the  ladies,"  din 
ner-parties  (like  the  congregations  in  heaven,  as  described  in  the 
hymn)  would  "  ne'er  break  up,"  and  suppers  (like  Sabbaths,  on 
the  same  authority)  would  never  end. 

"  Hang  it  all,  will  the  fellows  never  go  ?" 

So  thought  Maitland,  of  St.  Gatien's,  the  founder  of  the  feast. 
The  inhospitable  reflections  which  we  have  recorded  had  all 
been  passing  through  his  brain  as  he  rather  moodily  watched 
the  twenty  guests  he  had  been  feeding — one  can  hardly  say  en 
tertaining.  It  was  a  "  duty  dinner  "  he  had  been  giving — almost 
everything  Maitland  did  was  done  from  a  sense  of  duty— yet  he 
scarcely  appeared  to  be  reaping  the  reward  of  an  approving  con 
science.  His  acquaintances,  laughing  and  gossiping  round  the 
half -empty  wine-glasses,  the  olives,  the  scattered  fruit,  and  "the 
ashes  of  the  weeds  of  their  delight,"  gave  themselves  no  con 
cern  about  the  weary  host.  Even  at  his  own  party,  as  in  life 
generally,  Maitland  felt  like  an  outsider.  He  wakened  from  his 
reverie  as  a  strong  hand  was  laid  lightly  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Well,  Maitland,"  said  a  man  sitting  down  beside  him,  "  what 
have  you  been  doing  this  long  time  ?" 

"What  have  I  been  doing,  Barton?"  Maitiand  answered. 
"Oh,  I  ha^e  been  reflecting  on  the  choice  of  a  life,  and  trying 
to  humanize  myself!  Bielby  says  I  have  not  enough  humaa 
nature." 


B  THE   NARK    OF  CAIXT. 

"  Bielby  is  quite  right;  he  is  the  most  judicious  of  college  doni 
and  father-confessors,  old  man.  And  now  long  do  you  mean 
to  remain  his  pupil  and  penitent  ?  And  how  is  the  pothouse 
getting  on  f ' 

Frank  Barton,  the  speaker,  had  been  at  school  with  Maitland, 
and  ever  since,  at  college  and  in  life,  had  bullied,  teased,  and  be 
friended  him.  Barton  was  a  big  young  man,  with  great  tliews 
and  einews,  and  a  broad  breast  beneath  his  broadcloth  and  wide 
shirt-front.  He  was  blonde,  prematurely  bald,  with  an  aquiline, 
commanding  nose,  keen,  merry  blue  eyes,  and  a  short,  fair 
beard.  He  had  taken  a  medical  as  well  as  other  degrees  at  the 
university;  he  had  studied  at  Vienna  and  Paris;  he  waa  even, 
what  Captain  Costigan  styles  **  a  scientific  cyarkter."  He  had 
written  learnedly  in  various  proceedings  of  erudite  societies:  be 
had  made  a  cruise  in  a  man-of-war,  a  scientific  expedition;  and 
his  "  Les  Tatouages  Etude  Medico- Legale,"  published  in  Paris, 
had  been  commended  by  the  highest  authorities.  Yet,  froui 
some  whim  of  philanthrophy,  he  had  not  a  home  and  practice  in 
Cavendish  Square,  but  dwelt  and  labored  in  Chelsea. 

*'  How  is  your  pothouse  getting  on  ?''  he  asked  again. 

"  Th a  pothouse  ?  Oh,  the  Hit  or  Miss  you  mean?  Well.  I'm 
afraid  it's  not  very  successful.  I  took  the  lease  of  it,  you  know, 
partly  by  way  of  doing  some  good  in  a  practical  kind  of  way. 
The  workingmen  at  the  waterside  won't  go  to  clubs,  where  there 
is  nothing  but  coffee  to  drink,  and  little  but  tracts  to  read.  I 
thought  if  I  gave  them  sound  beer,  and  looked  in  among  them 
now  and  then  of  an  evening,  I  might  help  to  civilize  them  a  bit, 
like  that  fellow  who  kept  the  Thieves'  Club  in  the  East  End. 
And  then  I  fancied  they  might  help  to  make  me  a  little  more 
human.  But  it  does  not  seem  quite  to  succeed.  I  fear  I  am  a  - 
born  wet  blanket.  But  the  idea  is  good.  Mrs.  St.  John  Delo- 
raine  quite  agrees  with  me  about  that.  And  she  is  a  high  au 
thority." 

"Mrs.  St.  John  Delpraine?  I've  heard  of  her.  She  is  a 
lively  widow,  isn't  she  ?" 

"  She  is  a  practical  philanthropist,"  answered  Maitland.  8 
ing  a,  little. 

"  Pretty,  too,  I  have  been  told?" 

"Yes;  she  is  'conveniently  handsome/  as  Izaak  Walton 
Bays." 

"I  say,  Maitland,  here's  a  chance  to  humanize  you.  ,Why 
don't  you  ask  her  to  marry  you  V  Prett}'  and  philanthropic  ,? ,nd 
rich — what  better  would  you  ask ;" 

"  I  wish  every  one  wouldn't  bother  a  man  to  marry,"  Mait 
land  replied  testily,  and  turning  red  in  his  peculiar  manner;  for 
his  complexion  was  pale  and  unwholesome. 

"What  a  queer  chap  you  are.  Maitland;  what's  the  matter 
with  you?  Here  you  are,  young,  entirely  without  encum 
brances,  as  the  adrertifements  say,  no  relations  to  worry  you, 
with  plenty  of  money,  let  alone  what  you  make  by  writing,  and 
yet  you  are  not  happy.  What  is  the  matter  with  you  T 

' '  Well,  you  should'know  best.  What's  the  good  of  your  being 
&  doctor,,  and  acquainted  all  these  years  with  my  moral  and 


THE    MARK    OF   CAIN.  3 

physical  constitution  (what  there  is  of  it),  if  you  can't  tell  what's 
the  nature  of  my  complaint  ?" 

4<  I  don't  diagnose  many  cases  like  yours,  old  boy,  dovnt  by 
the  side  of  the  water,  among  the  hardy  patients  of  Mundy  & 
Barton,  general  practitioners.  There  is  plenty  of  human  nature 
there  /" 

*'  And  do  you  mean  to  stay  there  with  Mundy  much*longer  ?" 

"  Well,  I  don't  know.  A  fellow  is  really  doing  some  good, 
aEd  it  is  a  splendid  practice  Jor  mastering  surgery.  They  are 
always  falling  off  roofs,  or  having  weights  fall  on  them,  or  get 
ting  jammed  between  barges,  or  kicking  each  other  into  most 
interesting  jellies.  Then  the  foreign  sailors  are  handy  with 
their  knives.  Altogether,  a  man  learns  a  good  deal  about  sur 
gery  in  Chelsea.  But  I  say,"  Barton  went  on,  lowering  his 
voice,  "  where  on  earth  did  you  pick  up ?" 

litre  he  glanced  significantly  at  a  tall  man,  standing  at  some 
di*1f.nee,  the  center  of  half  a  dozen  very  youthful  revelers. 

-'  Cranely,  do  you  mean?  I  met  him  at  the  Trumpet  office. 
He  was  writing  about  the  Coolie  Labor  Question  and  the  Eastern 
<£u€:stion.  He  has  been  in  the  South  Seas,  like  you." 

"Yes;  he  has  been  in  a  lot  of  queerer  places  than  the  South 
Seas,"  answered  tho  other,  "and  he  ought  to  know  something 
abcmt  Coolies.  He  has  dealt  in  them,  I  fancy." 

"  I  dare  say,"  Maitland  replied  rather  wearily.  "  He  seems  to 
hsve  traveled  a  good  deal;  perhaps  he  has  traveled  in  Coolies, 
whatever  they  may  be." 

"• '  Now,  my  dear  fellow,  do  you  know  what  kind  of  man  your 
gt-evt  is,  or  don't  you'?" 

'•  He  seems  to  be  a  military  and  sporting  kind  of  gent,  so  to 
speak,''  said  Maitland,  "  but  what  does  it  matter  ?" 

"  Then  you  don't  know  why  he  left  his  private  tutor's;  you 
don't  know  why  he  left  the  university;  you  don't  know  why  he 
left  the  Ninety -second;  you  don't  know,  and  no  one  does,  what; 
he  did  after  that;  and  you  never  heard  of  that  affair  with  the 
Frenchman  in  Egypt  ?" 

"Well,"  Maitland  replied,  "about  his  ancient  history  I  own  1 
don't  know  anything.  As  to  the  row  with  the  Frenchman  afc 
Cairo,  he  told  me  himself.  He  said  the  beggar  was  too  small 
for  him  to  lick,  and  that  dueling  was  ridiculous." 

ui  They  didn't  take  that  view  of  it  at  Shephard's  Hotel." 

"  Well,  it  is  not  my  affair,"  said  Maitland.  "  One  should  see 
sli  tvorts  of  characters,  Bielby  says.  This  is  not  an  ordinary  fel 
low.  Why,  he  has  been  a  sailor  before  the  mast,  he  says,  by 
way  of  adventure,  and  he  is  full  of  good  stories.  I  rather  like 
'  him,  and  he  can't  do  my  moral  character  any  harm.  I'm  nofc 
likely  to  deal  in  Coolies  at  my  time  of  life,  nor  quarrel  with  war 
like  aliens." 

No,  but  he's  not  a  good  man  to  introduce  to  these  boys  from 
Oxford,"  Barton  was  saying,  when  the  subject  of  their  conver 
sation  came  up,  surrounded  by  his  little  court  of  undergraduates, 

Tlie  Honorable  Thomas  Cranley  was  a  good  deal  older  than 
t)}e  company  in  which  he  found  himself.  Without  being  one  of 
tbe  iioary  youths  who  play  Fatstaff  to  every  fresh  heir's  Priawe 


4  THE    MARK    OF    CMZZV. 

Harry,  he  was  a  middle-aged  man,  too  obviously  accustomed  to 
the  society  of  boys.  His  very  dress  spoke  of  a  prolonged  youth. 
A  large  catrs-eye,  circled  with  diamonds,  blazed  solitary  in  his 
shirt-front,  and  his  coat  was  cut  after  the  manner  of  the  contem 
porary  reveler.  His  chin  was  clean  shaven,  and  his  face,  though 
a  good  deal  worn,  was  ripe,  smooth,  shining  with  good  cheer, 
and  of  a'  purply  bronze  hue,  from  exposure  to  hot  suns  and  fa 
miliarity  with  the  beverages  of  many  peoples.  His  full  red  lips, 
with  their  humorous  corners,  were  shaded  by  a  small  black  mus 
tache,  and  his  twinkling  bister-tolored  eyes,  beneath  mobile 
black  eyebrows,  gave  Cranley  the  air  of  a  jester  and  a  good  fel 
low.  In  mn.nner  he  was  familiar,  with  a  kind  of  deference,  too, 
and  reserve,  "  like  a  dog  that  is  always  wagging  his  tail  and  dep 
recating  a  kick,"  thought  Barton  grimly,  as  he  watched  the  oth 
er's  genial  advances. 

"  He's  going  to  say  good-night,  bless  him,"  thought  Maitland 
gratefully.  "  Now  the  others  will  be  moving  too,  I  hope!" 

So  Maitland  rose  with  much  alacrity  as  Cranley  approached 
him.  To  stand  up  would  shew,  he  thought,, that  he  was  not  in- 
hospHably  eager  to  detain  the  parting  guest. 

"  Good -night,  Mr.  Maitland,"  said  the  senior,  holding  out  his 
hand. 

"  It  is  still  early,"  said  the  host,  doing  his  best  to  play  his  part. 
"  Must  you  really  go?" 

"Yes;  the  night's  young"  (it  was  about  half  past  fcivelve), 
"but  I  have  a  kind  of  engagement  to  look  in  at  the  Cockpit, 
and  three  or  four  of  our  young  friends  here  are  anxious  to  come 
with  me,  and  see  how  we  keep  it  up  round  there.  Perhaps  you 
and  your  friend  will  walk  with  us."  Here  Le  bowed  slightly  in 
the  direction  of  Barton. 

"  There  will  be  a  little  bac  going  on,"  he  continued — "  un petit 
bac  de  sante;  and  these  boys  tell  me  they  have  never  played  any 
thing  more  elevating  than  loo." 

"  I'm  afraid  I  am  no  good  at  a  rouni  game,"  answered  Mait 
land,  who  had  played  at  his  aunt's  afc  Christmas,  and  who  now 


son,  and  looking  rather  at  the  younger  men  than  at  Cranley, 
"  why,  I  will  not  balk  you.  Good-night,  Maitland." 

And  he  shook  hands  with  his  host. 

"Good-nights"  were  uttered  in  every  direction;  sticks,  hats, 
and  umbrellas  were  hunted  up:  and  while  Maitland,  half-asleep, 
was  being  whirled  to  his  rooms  in  Bloomsbury  in  a  hansom,  his 
guests  made  the  frozen  pavement  of  Piccadilly  ring  beneath 
thfir  elegant  heels. 

"  It  is  only  round  the  corner,"  said  Cranley  to  the  four  or  five 
men  who  accompanied  him.  "  The  Cockpit;  tfhere  I  am  taking 
you,  is  in  a  fashionable  slum  off  St.  James'.  We're  just  there.*' 

There  was  nothing  either  meretricious  or  sinister  in  the  aspect 
01  that  favored  resort  the  Cockpit,  as  the  Decade  Club  was 
familiarly  called  by  its  friends— and  enemies.  'Two  young  Mer- 
t-.ai  men  and  the  freshman  from  New,  who  were  enioyicg  llicil 


THE   MARK    OF    CAIN.  $ 

Christmas  vacation  im  town,  and  had  been  dining  with  Maitland, 
were  a  little  disappointed  in  the  appearance  of  the  place.  They 
had  hoped  to  knock  mysteriously  at  a  back  door  in  a  lane,  and 
to  be  shown,  after  investigating  through  a  loopholed  wicket, 
into  a  narrow  staircase,  which,  again,  should  open  on  halls  of 
light,  full  of  blazing  wax  candles  and  magnificent  lackeys, 
while  a  small  mysterious  man  would  point  out  the  secret  hiding- 
room,  and  the  passages  leading  on  to  the  roof  or  into  the  next 
house,  in  case  of  a  raid  by  the  police.  Such  was  the  old  idea  of 
a  "  hell;"  but  the  advance  of  Thought  has  altered  all  these  early 
notions.  The  Decade  Club  was  like  any  other  small  club.  A 
current  of  warm  air,  charged  with  tobacco-smoke,  rushed  forth 
into  the  frosty  night  when  the  swinging  door  was  opened;  a 
sleepy  porter  looked  out  of  his  little  nest,  and  Cranley  wrote  the 
names  of  the  companions  he  introduced  in  a  book  which  was 
kept  for  that  purpose. 

"Now  you  are  free  of  the  Cockpit  for  the  night,"  he  said, 
genially.  "It's  a  livelier  place,  in  the  small  hours,  than  that 
classical  Olympic  we've  just  left." 

They  went  up-stairs,  passing  the  doors  of  one  or  two  rooms,  life 
up  but  empty,  except  for  two  or  three  men  who  were  sleeping  in 
uncomfortable  attitudes  on  sofas.  The  whole  of  the  breadth  of 
the  first  floor,  all  the  drawing-room  of  the  house  before  it  be 
fore  it  became  a  club,  had  been  turned  into  a  card-room,  from 
which  brilliant  lights,  voices,  and  a  heavy  odor  of  tobacco  and 
alcohol  poured  out  when  the  door  was  opened.  A  long  green- 
baize-covered  table,  of  very  light  wood,  ran  down  the  center  of 
the  room,  while  refreshments  stood  on  smaller  tables,  and  a 
servant  out  of  livery  sat,  half -asleep,  behind  a  great  desk  in  the 
remotest  corner.  There  were  several  empty  chairs  round  the 
green-baize-covered  table,  at  which  some  twenty  men  were 
sitting,  with  money  before  them;  while  one,  in  the  middle, 
dealt  out  the  cards  on  a  broad  flap  of  smooth  black  leather  let 
into  the  baize.  Every  now  and  then  ho  threw  the  cards  he  had 
been  dealing  into  a  kind  of  well  in  the  table,  and  after  every 
deal  he  raked  up  his  winnings  with  a  rake,  or  distributed  gold  and 
counters  to  the  winners,  as  mechanically  as  if  he  had  been  a 
croupier  at  Monte  Carlo.  The  players,  who  were  all  in  evening 
dress,  had  scarcely  looked  up  when  the  strangers  entered  tha 
room. 

"  Brought  some  recruits,  Cranley  ?"  asked  the  banker,  adding, 
as  he  looked  at  his  hand,  "  J'en  donne  /"  and  becoming  absorbed 
in  his  game  again. 

/'  The  game  you  do  not  understand?"  said  Cranley  to  one  of 
his  recruits. 

"  Not  quite,"  said  the  lad,  shaking  his  head. 

"  All  right;  I  will  soon  show  you  all  about  it;  and  I  wouldn't 
play,  if  I  were  you,  till  you  know  all  about  it.  Perhaps  after 
you  know  all  about  it,  you'll  think  it  wiser  not  to  play  at  all. 
At  least,  you  might  well  think  so  abroad,  where  very  fishy  things 
are  often  done.  Here  it's  all  right,  of  course." 

Is  baccarat  a  game  you  can  be  cheated  at,  then — I  mean* 
people  are  inclined  to  c&gat  ?" 


6  THE    MARK    OF   CAfK 

"  Cheat  ?     Oh,  rather!     There  are  about  a  dozen  ways  ef 
cheating  at  baccarat." 


The  other  young  men  from  Maitland's  party  gathered  rou/i3 
their  mentor,  who  continued  hia  instructions  in  a  low  voice,  and 
from  a  distance  whence  the  play  could  be  watched,  while  the 
players  were  not  likely  to  be  disturbed  by  the  conversation. 

"  Cheating  is  the  simplest  thing  in  the  world,  at  Nice  or  in 
Paris,"  Cranley  went  on;  "  but  to  show  you  how  it  is  done,  in 
case  you  ever  do  play  in  foreign  parts,  I  must  explain  the  game. 
You  see  the  men  first  put  down  their  stakes  within  the  thin.  • 
white  line  on  the  edge  of  the  table.  Then  the  banker  deals  two 
cards  to  one  of  the  men  on  his  left,  and  all  the  fellows  on  that 
side  stand  by  his  luck.  Then  he  deals  two  to  a  chappie  on  his 
right,  and  all  the  punters  on  the  right  back  that  sportsman. 
And  he  deals  two  cards  to  himself.  The  game  is  to  get  as  near 
nine  as  possible,  ten,  and  court  cards,  not  counting  at  all.  If 
the  banker  has  eight  or  nine,  he  does  not  offer  cards;  if  lie  has 
less,  he  gives  the  two  players,  if  they  ask  for  them,  one  card 
each,  and  takes  one  himself  if  he  chooses.  If  they  hold  BIX, 
eeven,  or  eight,  they  stand;  if  less,  they  take  a  card.  Some 
times  one  stands  at  five;  it  depends.  Then  the  banker  wins  if 
lie  is  nearer  nine  than  the  players,  and  they  win  if  they  are 
better  than  he;  and  that's  the  whole  affair." 

"  I  don't  see  where  the  cheating  can  come  in,"  said  one  of  the 
young  fellows. 

"  Dozens  of  ways,  as  I  told  you.  A  man  may  have  an  under 
standing  with  the  waite/,  and  play  with  arranged  packs;  but 
the  waiter  is  always  the  dangerous  element  in  that  tittle  com 
bination.  He's  sure  to  peach  or  blackmail  his  accomplice.  Then 
the  cards  may  be  marked.  I  remember,  at  Ostend,  one  fellow, 
a  big  German;  he  wore  spectacles,  like  all  Germans,  and  he 
eeldom  gave  the  players  anything  better  than  three  court  cards 
when  he  dealt.  One  evening  he  was  in  awful  lucks  when  he 
happened  to  go  for  his  cigar-case,  which  he  had  left  in  the  hall 
in  his  great-coat  pocket.  He  laid  down  his  spectacles  on  the 
table,  and  some  one  tried  them  on.  As  soon  as  he  took  up  the 
cards  he  gave  a  start,  and  sang  out,  *  Here's  a  swindle!  Ncros 
sommes  voles!'  He  could  see,  by  the  help  of  the  spectacles, 
that  all  the  nines  and  court  cards  were  marked;  and  "the  spec-  \ 
tacles  were  regular  patent  double  million  magnifiers.*' 

"  And  what  became  of  the  owner  of  the  glasses?" 

"Oh,  he  just  looked  into  the  room,  saw  the  man  wearing 
them,  and  didn't  wait  to  say  good-night.  He  just  went!" 

Here  Cranley  chuckled. 

"I  remember  another  time,  at  Nice:  I  always  laugh  when  1 
think  of  it!  There  was  a  little  Frenchman  who  played  nearly 
every  night.  He  would  take  the  bank  for  three  or  four  turns, 
and  he  almost  always  won.  Well,  one  night  he  had  been  at  the 
theater,  and  he  left  before  the  end  of  the  piece  and  looked  in  at 
the  Cercle.  He  took  the  bank:  lost  once,  won  twice;  then  h® 
offered  cards.  The  man  who  was  playing  nodded,  to  show  he 
would  take  one,  and  the  Frenchman  laid  down  an  eight  of  clubs, 
a  greasy,  <*£$r  r&i  rag,  with  THEJLTU&  FaA»CWft  && 


THE   MARK    OF    CAIN.  T 

•tamped  on  It  in  big  letters.  It  was  his  ticket  of  readmission  at 
the  theater  that  they  gave  him  when  he  went  out,  and  it  had 
got  mixed  up  with  a  nice  little  arrangement  in  cards  he  had 
managed  to  smuggle  into  the  club  pack.  I'll  never  forget  his 
face  and  the  other  man's  when  Theatre  Francais  turned  up. 
However,  you  understand  the  game  now,  and  if  you  want  to 
play,  we  had  better  give  fine  gold  to  the  waiter  in  exchange  for 
3  bone  counters,  and  get  to  work." 

I  Two  or  three  of  the  visitors  followed  Cranley  to  the  corner 
1  where  the  white,  dissipated-looking  waiter  of  the  card-room  sat, 
f  and  provided  themselves  with  black  and  redjetons  (bone  count* 
*  ers)  of  various  values,  to  be  redeemed  at  the  end  of  the  game. 

When  they  returned  to  the  table  the  banker  was  just  leaving 
his  post. 

"  I'm  cleaned  out,"  said  he,  "  decave.  Good-night,"  and  he 
walked  away. 

No  one  seemed  anxious  to  open  a  bank.  The  punters  had 
been  winning  all  night,  and  did  not  like  to  desert  their  luck. 

"  Oh,  this  will  never  do,"  cried  Cranley.  "If  no  one  else 
will  open  a  bank,  I'll  risk  a  couple  of  hundred,  just  to  show  you 
beginners  how  it  is  done!" 

Cranley  sat  down,  lit  a  cigarette,  and  laid  the  smooth  silver 
cigarette-case  before  him.  Then  he  began  to  deal. 

Fortune  at  first  was  all  on  the  side  of  the  players.  Again  and 
again  GJ  anley  chucked  out  the  counters  he  had  lost,  which  the  oth 
ers  gathered  in,  or  pushed  three  or  four  bank-notes  with  his  little 
rake  in  the  direction  of  a  more  venturesome  winner.  The  new 
comers,  who  were  winning,  thought  they  had  never  taken  part 
in  a  sport  more  gentlemanly  and  amusing. 

"  I  must  have  one  shy,"  said  Martin,  one  of  the  boys  who  had 
hitherto  stood  with  Barton,  behind  the  banker,  looking  on.  He 
was  a  gaudy  youth  with  a  diamond  stud,  rich,  and  not  fond  of 
losing.  He  staked  five  pounds  and  won;  he  left  the  whole  sura 
on  and  lost,  lost  again,  a  third  time,  and  then  said,  "  May  I  draw 
a  check?" 

"  Of  course  you  may,"  Cranley  answered.  "  The  waiter  will 
give  you  tout  ce  qiCil  faut  pour  ecrire,  as  the  stage  directions 
say;  but  I  don't  advise  you  to  plunge.  You've  lost  quite  enough. 
Yet  they  say  tlie  devil  favors  beginners,  so  you  can't  come  to 
grief."  ' 

The  young  fellow  by  this  time  was  too  excited  to  take  advice. 
v  His  cheeks  had  an  angry  flush,  his  hands  trembled  as  he  hastily 
i  constructed  some  paper  currency  of  considerable  value.    The 
|  parallel  horizontal  wrinkles  of  the  gambler  were  just  sketched 
''•  on  his  smooth  girlish  brow  as  he  returned  with  his  paper.    The 
bank  had  been  losing,  but  not  largely.    The  luck  turned  again  as 
»pon  as  Martin  threw  down  eom«  of  his  scrip.    Thrice  consecu 
tively  he  lost. 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  Barton  suddenly  to  Cranley,  "  may  I  help 
myself  to  one  of  your  cigarettes  ?" 

He  stooped  as  he  spoke,  over  the  table,  and  Cranley  saw  him 
pick  up  the  silver  cigarette  case.  It  was  a  handsoma  piece  of 
polished  diver. 


g  THE    MARK    OF    CAIW. 

•*'  Certainly;  help  yourself.  Give  me  back  ray  cigarette  ease,, 
please,  when  you  have  done  with  it." 

He  dealt  again,  and  lost. 

"What  a  nice  case!"  said  Barton,  examining  it  closely. 
•'  There  is  an  Arabic  word  engraved  on  it." 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Cranley,  rather  impatiently,  holding  out  hia 
hand  for  the  thing,  and  pausing  before  he  dealt.  "The  case 
was  given  me  by  the  late  khedive,  dear  old  Ismail,  bless  him! 
The  word  is  a  talisman." 

"I  thought  so.  The  case  seemed  to  bring  you  luck,"  said 
Barton. 

Cranley  half  turned  and  threv/  a  quick  look  at  him,  as  rapid 
and  timid  as  the  glance  of  a  hare  in  its  form. 

"  Come,  give  me  it  back,  please,"  he  said. 

"  Now,  just  oblige  me:  let  me  try  what  there  is  in  luck.  Gc» 
on  playing  while  I  rub  up  my  Arabic,  and  try  to  read  this  in 
effable  name  on  the  case.  Is  it  the  word  of  Power  of  Solomon  *' 

Cranley  glanced  back  again.  "  All  right,"  he  said,  "  as  yoii 
are  so  curious— fen  donne!"> 

He  offered  cards,  and  lost.  Martin's  face  brightened  up.  Ilia 
paper  currency  was  coming  back  to  him. 

"  It's  a  shame,"  grumbled  Cranley,  "  to  rob  a  fellow  of  his 
fetich.  Waiter,  a  small  brandy-and-soda!  Confound  you'/ 
awkwardness!  Why  do  you  spill  it  over  the  cards?" 

By  Cranley's  own  awkwardness,  more  than  the  waiter's,  a  little 
splash  of  the  liquid  had  fallen  in  front  of  him,  on  the  blaeir, 
leather  part  of  the  table  where  he  doait.  He  went  on  dealing, 
and  his  luck  altered  again.  The  rake  was  stretched  oat  ovesf 
both  halves  of  the  long  table;  the  gold  and  notes  and  counters, 
with  a  fluttering  assortment  of  Martin's  I  O  U's,  were  all 
dragged  in.  Martin  went  to  the  den  of  the  money-changer  sul 
lenly,  and  came  back  with  fresh  supplies. 

"  Banco  ?"  he  cried,  meaning  that  he  challenged  Cranley  for 
all  the  money  in  the  bank.  There  must  hure  been  some  seven 
hundred  pounds. 

"  All  right,"  said  Cranley,  taking  a  sip  ot  his  soda  water.  He 
had  dealt  two  cards,  when  his  hands  were  suddenly  grasped  as 
in  two  vices,  and  cramped  to  the  table.  Barton  had  bent  over 
from  behind  and  caught  him  by  the  wrists. 

Cranley  made  one  weak  automatic  movement  to  extricate 
himself;  then  he  sat  perfectly  still.  His  face,  which  he  turned 
over  his  shoulder,  was  white  beneath  the  stains  of  tan,  and  his 
lips  were  blue. 

"  Damn  you!*'  he  snarled.     "  What  trick  are  JTOU  after  now  ?'* 

"  Are  you  drunk,  Barton?"  cried  some  one. 

"  Leave  him  alone!"  shouted  some  of  the  players,  rising  from 
their  seats;  while  others,  pressing  round  Barton,  looked  over  his 
shoulder  without  seeing  any  excuse  for  his  behavior. 

'•' Gentlemen."  said  Barton,  in  a  steady  voice,  "I  leave  my 
conduct  in  the  hands  of  the  club.  If  I  do  not  convince  them 
that  Mr.  Cranley  has  been  cheating,  I  am  quite  at  their  disposal, 
and  at  his.  Let  any  one  who  doubts  what  I  say  look  here." 

*'  Well,  I'm  looking  here,  and  I  don't  see  what  you  are  making 


THE    MARK    OF    CAIN.  9 

ench  a  fuss  about,"  said  Martin,  from  the  group  behind,  peering 
ever  at  the  table  and  the  cards. 

"  Will  you  kindly No.  it  is  no  use."  The  last  remark  was 

addressed  to  the  captive,  who  had  tried  to  release  his  hands. 
•'Will  you  kindly  take  up  some  of  the  cards  and  deal  them 
elowly,  to  right  and  left,  over  that  little  puddle  of  spilt  soda 
water  on  the  leather  ?  Get  as  near  the  table  as  you  can." 

There  was  a  dead  silence  while  Martin  made  this  experiment. 

*'  By  gad,  I  can  see  every  pip  on  the  cards!"  cried  Martin. 

"  Of  course  you  can;  and  if  you  had  the  art  of  correcting  fort- 
one,  you  could  make  use  of  what  you  see.  At  the  least  you 
would  know  whether  to  take  a  card  or  stand." 

"  /  didn't,"  said  the  wretched  Cranley.  "  How  on  earth  was 
I  to  know  that  the  infernal  fool  of  a  waiter  would  spill  the 
liquor  there,  and  give  you  a  chance  against  me?' 

"  You  spilt  the  liquor  yourself,"  Barton  answered  coolly, 
"  when  I  took  away  your  cigarette-case.  I  saw  you  passing  the 
cards  over  the  surface  of  it,  which  any  one  can  see  for  himself 
is  a  perfect  mirror.  I  tried  to  warn  you — for  I  did  not  want  a 
row — when  I  caid  the  case  '  seemed  to  b '  ir..g  you  luck.'  But  you 
would  not  be  warned;  and  when  the  cigarette-case  trick  was 
played  out,  you  fell  back  on  the  old  dodge  with  the  drop  of 
water.  Will  any  one  else  convince  himself  that  I  am  right  be 
fore  I  let  Mr.  Cranley  go  ?" 

One  or  two  men  passed  the  cards,  as  they  had  seen  the  Banker 
do,  over  the  spilt  soda  water. 

"  It's  a  clear  case,"  they  said.     "  Leave  him  alone." 

Barton  slackened  his  grip  of  Cranley's  hands,  and  for  some 
seconds  they  lay  as  if  paralyzed  on  the  table  before  him,  white 
and  cold,  with  livid  circles  round  the  wrists.  The  man's  face 
was  deadly  pale,  and  wet  with  perspiration.  He  put  out  a  trem 
bling  hand  to  the  glass  of  brandy  -arid-water  that  stood  beside 
him ;  the  glass  rattled  against  his  teeth  as  he  drained  all  the  con 
tents  at  a  gulp. 

"  You  shall  hear  from  me,"  he  .grumbled,  and,  with  an  inartic 
ulate  muttering  of  threats  he  made  his  way,  stumbling  and  catch 
ing  at  chairs,  to  the  door. 

When  he  had  got  outside,  he  leaned  against  the  wall,  like  a 
drunken  man,  and  then  shambled  across  the  landing  into  a  read 
ing-room.  It  was  empty,  and  Cranley  fell  into  a  large  easy -chair, 
where  he  lay  crumpled  up,  rather  than  sat,  for  perhaps  ten  mhv 
utes,  holding  his  hand  against  his  heart. 

"  They  talk  about  having  the  courage  of  one's  opinions.  Con 
found  it!  Why  haven't  I  the  nerve  for  my  character?  Hang 
this  heart  of  mine!  Will  it  never  stop  thumping  ?" 

He  sat  up  and  looked  about  him,  then  rose  and  walked  to 
ward  the  table;  but  his  head  began  to  swim,  and  his  eyes  to 
darken;  so  he  fell  back  again  in  his  seat,  feeling  drowsy  and 
beaten.  Mechanically  he  began  to  move  the  hand  that  hung 
over  the  arm  of  his  low  chair,  and  it  encountered  a  newspaper 
which  had  fallen  on  the  floor.  He  lifted  it  automatically  and 
without  thought;  it  was  the  Times.  Perhaps  to  try  his  eyes,  and 


10  THE    MARK    OF    CAIN; 

see  if  they  served  him  again  after  his  collapse,  he  ran  them  do  wr? 
the  columns  of  advertisements. 

Suddenly  something  caught  his  attention;  his  whole  la» 
figure  grew  braced  again  as  he  read  a  passage  steadily  through 
more  than  twice  or  thrice.  When  he  had  quite  mastered  thi% 
he  threw  down  the  paper  anjd  gave  a  low  whistle. 

"So  the  old  boy's  dead,"  he  reflected;  "and  that  drunken 
tattooed  ass  and  his  daughter  are  to  come  in  for  the  money  and 
the  mines!  They'll  be  clever  that  find  him,  and  I  sha'n't  give 
them  his  address!  What  luck  some  men  have!" 

Here  he  fell  into  deep  thought,  his  brows  and  lips  working 
eagerly. 

"  I'll  do  it,"  he  said  at  iaefc,  cutting  the  advertisement  out  of 
the  paper  with  a  penknife.     "  It  isn't  often  a  man  has  a  chancs 
to  star  in  this  game  of  existence.    I've  lost  all  my  own  social  '' 
Lives:  one  in  that  business  at  Oxford,  one  in    the  row  at  Ali  c 
Musjid,  and  the  third  went — to-night.      But  I'll  star.      Every 
sinner  should  desire  a  new  Life,"  he  added  with  a  sneer.* 

He  rose,  steady  enough  now,  walked  to  the  door,  paused  and 
listened,  heard  the  excited  voices  in  the  card-room  still  discuss 
ing  him,  slunk  down-stairs,  took  his  hat  and  great-coat,  and 
swaggered  past  the  porter.  Mechanically  he  felt  in  his  pocket, 
as  he  went  out  of  the  porch,  for  hie  cigarette-case;  and  he 
paused  at  the  little  fount  of  fire  at  the  door.  He  was  thinking 
that  he  would  never  light  a  cigarette  there  again. 

Presently  he  remembered  and  swore.  He  had  left  his  case  on 
the  table  of  the  card-room,  where  Barton  had  laid  it  down,  and 
he  had  not  the  impudence  to  send  back  for  it. 

"  Vile  damnumr  he  muttered  (for  he  had  en  joyed  a  classical 
education),  and  so  disappeared  in  the  frosty  night. 

CHAPTER  II. 

IN    T  HE    SNOW. 

THE  foul  and  foggy  night  of  early  February  was  descending. 
Borne  weeks  after  the  scene  in  the  Cockpit,  on  the  river  and  th$ 
town.     Night  was  falling  from  the  heavens;  or  rather,  night 
seemed  to  be  rising  from  the  earth— steamed  up,  black,  from  ths 
dingy  trampled  snow  of  the  streets,  and  from  the  vapors  thai  £ 
swam  above  the  squalid  houses.     There  was  coal- smoke  and  3  F 
taste  of  lucifer  matches  in  the  air.     In  the  previous  night  there  \ 
had  been  such  a  storm  as  London  seldom  sees;  the  powdery,  fly»  |  - 
ing  snow  had  been  blown  for  many  hours  before  a  tyrannous  > 
northeast  gale,  and  had  settled  down,  like  dust  in  a  neglected  \. 
chamber,  over  every  surface  of  the  city.     Drifts  and  '"snow- 
wreaths,"  as  northern  folk  say,  were  lying  in  exposed  places,  in 
squares   and   streets,    as  deep  as   they   lie   when   sheep   are 
"  smoored"  on  the  sides  of  Sundhope  or  Penchrist  in  the  deso 
late  border-land.      All  day  London  had  been  struggling  under 
her  cold  winding-sheet,  like  a  feeble,  feverish  patient  trying  to 
throw  off  a  heavy  white  counterpane.    Now  the  counterpane 
was  dirty  enough.    The  pavements  were  three  inches  deep  in  a 

*  "  Starring  "  is  playing  for  a  new  "  Life  "  at  PooL 


I 


THE    MARK    OF    CAIN.  11 

,  greasy  deposit  of  mud  and  molten  ice.  Above  the  round 
glass  or  iron  coverings  of  coal-cellars  the  foot-passengers  slipped, 
"ricked"  their  backs,  and  swore  as  they  stumbled,  if  they  did 
not  actually  fall  down,  in  the  filth.  Those  who  were  in  haste, 
and  could  afford  it,  traveled,  at  fancy  prices,  in  hansoms  with 
two  horses  driven  tandem.  The  snow  still  lay  comparatively 
white  on  the  surface  of  the  less-frequented  thoroughfares,  with 
straight  shining  black  marks  where  wheels  had  cut  their  way. 

At  intervals  in  the  day  the  fog  had  fallen  blacker  than  night. 
Down  by  the  waterside  the  roads  were  deep  in  a  mixture  of  a 
weak  gray-brown  or  coffee  color.  Beside  one  of  the  bridges  in 
Chelsea,  an  open  slope  leads  straight  to  the  stream,  and  here,  in 
the  afternoon— for  a  late  start  was  made — the  carts  of  the  vestry 
had  been  led,  and  loads  of  slush  that  had  choked  up  the  streets 
in  the  more  fashionable  parts  of  the  town  had  been  unladen  into 
the  river.  This  may  not"  be  the  most  scientific  of  sanitary  modes 
of  clearing  the  streets  and  squares,  but  it  was  the  way  that 
recommended  itself  to  the  wisdom  of  the  contractor.  In  the 
early  evening  the  fog  had  lightened  a  little,  but  it  fell  sadlj 
again,  and  grew  so  thick  that  the  bridge  was  lost  in  mist  half 
way  across  the  river,  like  the  arches  of  that  fatal  bridge  beheld 
by  Mirza  in  his  vision.  The  masts  of  the  vessels  moored  on  the 
near  bank  disappeared  from  view,  and  only  a  red  lamp  or  two 
shone  against  tne  blackness  of  the  hulks.  From  the  public- 
house  at  the  corner— the  Hit  or  Miss— streamed  a  fan- shaped 
flood  of  light,  soon  choked  by  the  fog. 

Out  of  the  muddy  twilight  of  a  street  that  runs  at  right  angles 
to  the  river,  a  cart  came  crawling;  its  high-piled  white  lo«id  of 
snow  was  faintly  visible  before  the  brown  horses  (they  were 
yoked  tandem)  came  into  view.  This  cart  was  driven  down  to 
the  water-edge,  and  was  there  upturned,  with  much  shouting 
and  cracking  of  whips  on  the  part  of  the  men  engaged,  and  with 
a  good  deal  of  straining,  slipping,  and  stumbling  on  the  side  of 
the  horses. 

One  of  the  men  jumped  down,  and  fumbled  at  ths  iron  pm/i 
-which  kept  the  backboard  of  the  cart  in  its  place. 

"Blarm  me,  Bill,"  he  grumbled  "if  the  blessed  pins  ain't 
froze/' 

Here  he  put  his  wet  fingers  in  his  mouth,  blowing  on  them 
afterward,  and  smacking  his  arms  across  his  breast  to  restore 
the  circulation. 

The  comrade  addressed  as  Bill  merely  stared  speechlessly  as 
he  stood  at  the  smoking  head  of  the  leader,  and  the  other  man 
tugged  again  at  the  pin. 

"It  won't  budge,"  he  cried  at  last.  "  Just  run  into  the  Hit  or 
Miss  at  the  corner,  mate,  and  borrow  a  hammer;  and  you  might 
get  a  pint  o'  hot  beer  when  ye're  at  it.  Here's  f ourpence.  I  ww 
with  three  that  found  a  quid  in  the  Mac,*  end  of  last  week; 
here's  the  last  of  it." 

He  fumbled  in  his  pocket,  but  his  hands  were  so  numb  that  h« 

*  "  A  quid  in  the  Mac  "—a  sovereign  in  the  street-scrapings,  called 
Mat  from  Macadam,  and  employed  as  mortar  in  building  eligible  fro*- 
bold  tenement* 


1$  THE    MARK    OF    CAIN. 

could  scarcely  capture  the  nimble  fourpence.  Why  should  the 
*'  nimble  fourpence"  have  the  monopoly  of  agility? 

"I'm blue  ribbon,  Tommy,  don't  yer  know,"  said  Bill,  with  re 
gretful  sullenness.  His  ragged  great-coat,  indeed,  was  decor 
ated  with  the  azure  badge  of  avowed  and  total  abstinence. 

"Blow  yer  blue  ribbon!  Hold  on  where  ye  are,  and  I'll 
bring  the  bloomin'  hammer  myself." 

Thus  growling,  Tommy  strode  indifferent  through  the  snow, 
his  legs  protected  by  bandages  of  straw  ropes.  Presently  he  re 
appeared  in  the  warmer  yellow  of  the  light  that  poured  through 
the  windows  of  the  old  public-house.  He  was  wiping  his  mouth 
with  the  back  of  his  hand,  which  he  then  thrust  into  the  deeps 
of  his  pockets,  hugging  a  hammer  to  his  body  under  his  armpit. 

' 4  A  little  hot  beer  would  do  yer  bloomin'  temper  a  deal  more 
good  than  ten  yards  o'  blue  ribbon  at  sixpence.  Blue  ruin's 
more  in  my  line,"  observed  Thomas  epigramatically,  much  com 
forted  by  his  refreshment.  And  with  two  well-directed  taps  he 
knocked  the  pins  out  of  their  sockets,  and  let  down  the  back' 
board  of  the  cart. 

Bill,  uncomforted  by  ale,  sulkily  jerked  the  horses  forward; 
the  cart  was  tilted  up',  and  ine  snow  tumbled  out,  partly  into 
the  shallow  shore-water,  partly  on  to  the  edge  of  the  slope. 

"  Ullo!"  cried  Tommy  suddenly.  "  'Ere's  an  old  coat-sleeve  a 
sticking  out  o'  the  snow." 

"  'Alves!"  exclaimed  Bill,  with  a  noble  eye  on  the  main 
chance. 

"'Alves!  of  course,  'alves.  Ain't  we  on  the  same  lay,"  re 
plied  the  chivalrous  Tommy.  Then  he  cried,  "  Lord  preserve 
us,  mate;  there's  a  cove  in  the  coat  /" 

He  ran  forward,  and  clutched  the  elbow  of  the  sleeve  which 
stood  up  stiffly  above  the  frozen  mound  of  lumpy  snow.  He 
might  well  have  thought  at  first  that  the  sleeve  was  empty,  such 
a  very  stick  of  bone  and  skin  was  the  arm  he  grasped  within  it. 

"Here,  Bill,  help  us  to  dig  him  out,  poor  chap!" 

"  Is  he  dead  ?"  asked  Bill,  leaving  the  horses'  heads. 

"  Dead!  he's  bound  to  be  dead  under  all  that  weight.  But 
how  the  dickens  did  he  get  into  the  cart?  Guess  we  didn't 
shovel  him  in,  eh  ?  we'd  ha^e  seen  him." 

By  this  time  the  two  men  had  dragged  a  meager  corpse  out  of 
the  snow-heap.  A  rough,  worn  old  pilot- coat,  a  shabby  pair  of 
corduroy  trousers,  and  two  broken  boots,  through  which  the 
toes  could  be  seen  peeping  ruefully,  were  all  the  visible  raiment 
of  the  body.  The  clothes  lay  in  heavy  swathes  and  folds  over 
the  miserable  bag  of  bones  that  had  once  been  a  tall  man.  The 
peaked  blue  face  was  half  hidden  by  a  fell  of  iron-gray  hair, 
and  a  grizzled  beard  hung  over  the  breast. 

The  two  men  stood  for  some  moments  staring  at  the  corpse. 
A  wretched  woman  in  a  thin  gray  cotton  dress  had  come  down 
from  the  bridge,  and  shivered  beside  the  body  for  a  moment. 

"  He's  a  goner,"  was  her  criticism.     "  I  wish  J  was." 

"With  this  asperation  she  shivered  back  into  the  fog  again, 
walking  on  her  unknown  way.  By  this  time  a  dozen  people 
had  started  up  from  nowhere,  and  were  standing  in  a  tight 


THE    MARK    OF    CAIN.  & 

ring  round  the  body.  The  behavior  of  the  people  was  typical 
of  London  gazers.  No  one  made  any  remark,  or  offered  any 
suggestion;  they  simply  stared  with  all  their  eyes  and  souls, 
absorbed  in  the  unbought  excitement  of  the  spectacle.  They 
were  helpless,  idealess,  interested  and  unconcerned. 

"  Run  and  fetch  a  peeler.  Bill,"  said  Tommy,  at  last. 

"Feeler  be  hanged!  Bloomin' likely  I  am  to  find  a  peeler. 
Fetch  him  yourself." 

"  Sulky  devil  you  are,"  answered  Tommy,  who  was  certainly 
of  iniider  mood,  whereas  Bill  seemed  a  most  nnalluring  exam 
ple  of  the  virtue  of  Temperance.  It  is  true  that  he  had  only 
been  "  Blue  Ribbon  "  since  the  end  of.  his  Christmas  bout — that 
is,  for  nearly  a  fortnight — and  Virtue,  a  precarious  tenant,  was 
net  yet  comfortable  in  her  new  lodgings. 

Before  Tommy  returned  from  his  quest  the  dusk  had  deepened 
into  night.  The  crowd  round  the  body  in  the  pea-coat  had 
grown  denser,  and  it  might  truly  be  eaid  that  "the  more  pare 
knew  not  wherefore  they  had  come  together."  The  center  of 
interest  v/as  not  a  fight,  they  were  sure,  otherwise  the  ring 
would  have  been  swaying  this  way  and  that.  •  Neither  \vas  it  a 
dispute  between  a  cabman  and  his  fare;  there  was  no  sound  of 
angry  repartees.  It  might  be  a  drunken  woman,  or  a  man  in  a 
fit,  or  a  lost  child.  So  the  outer  circle  of  spectators,  who  saw 
nothing,  waited,  and  patiently  endured  till  the  moment  of  reve 
lation  should  arrive.  Respectable  people  who  passed  only 
glanced  at  the  gathering;  respectable  people  may  wonder,  but 
they  never  do  find  out  the  mystery  within  a  London  crowd.  On 
the  extreme  fringe  of  the  mob  were  some  amateurs  who  had 
just  been  drinking  in  the  Hit  or  Miss.  They  were  noisy,  curious, 
and  impatient. 

At  last  Tommy  arrived  with  two  policemen,  who,  acting  on 
his  warning,  had  brought  with  them  a  stretcher.  He  had  told 
them  briefly  how  the  dead  man  was  found  in  the  cart-load  of 
snow. 

Before  the  men  in  blue,  the  crowd  of  necessity  opened.  One 
of  the  officers  stooped  down  and  flashed  M*  lantern  on  the  heap 
of  snow  where  the  dead  face  lay,  as  pale  as  its  frozen  pillow. 

"  Lord,  it's  old  Dicky  Shields!"  cried  a  voice  in  the  crowd,  as 
the  peaked  still  features  were  lighted  up. 

The  man  who  spoke  was  one  of  the  latest  spectators  that  had 
arrived,  after  the  news  that  some  pleasant  entertainment  was  on 
foot  had  passed  into  the  warm  alcoholic  air  and  within  the 
swinging  doors  of  the  Hit  or  Miss. 

"You  know  him,  do  you?"  asked  the  policeman  with  tha 
lantern. 

"Know  him,  rather!  Didn't  I  give  him  sixpence  for  rum 
when  he  tattoed  this  here  cross  and  anchor  on  my  arm  ?  Dicky 
was  a  grand  hand  at  tattoing,  bless  you;  he'd  tattoed  himself  all 
over!" 

The  speaker  rolled  up  his  sleeve,  and  showed,  on  his  burly  red 
forearm,  the  emblems  of  Faith  and  Hope  rather  neatly  executed 
in  blue, 


14  THE    MARK    OF    CAIN. 

"  Why,  he  was  in  the  Hit  or  Miss,"  the  speaker  went  on,  "na 
later  nor  last  night." 

"  Wot  beats  me,"  said  Tommy  again,  as  the  policeman  lifted 
the  light  corpse,  and  tried  vainly  to  straighten  the  frozen  limb*. 
4<  Wot  beats  me  is  how  he  got  in  this  here  cart  of  ours." 

"He's  light  enough  surely,"  added  Tommy;  "but  I  warrant 
we  didn't  chuck  him  on  the  cart  with  the  snow  in  Belgravo 
Square." 

"  Where  do  you  put  up  at  night  ?"  asked  one  of  the  policemen ' 
suddenly.  He  had  been  ruminating  on  the  mystery. 

"  In  the  yard  there,  behind  that  there  boarding,"  answered 
'Tommy,  pointing  to  a  breached  and  battered  palisade  near  the 
corner  of  the  public  house. 

At  the  back  of  this  rickety  plank  fence,  with  its  parti-colored 
tatters  of  damp  and  torn  advertisements,  lay  a  considerable 
space  of  waste  ground.  The  old  houses  that  recently  occupied 
the  site  had  been  pulled  down,  probably  as  condemned  "slums," 
in  some  moment  of  reform,  when  people  had  nothing  better  to 
think  of  than  the  housing  of  the  poor. 

There  had  been  an  idea  of  building  model  lodgings  for  tramps, 
with  all  the  latest  improvements,  on  the  space,  but  the  idea 
evaporated  when  something  else  occurred  to  divert  the  general 
interest.  Now  certain  sheds,  with  roofs  sloped  against  the  near* 
est  walls,  formed  a  kind  of  lumber-room  for  the  parish. 

At  this  time  the  scavengers'  carts  were  housed  in  the  sheds,  or 
outside  the  sheds  when  these  were  overcrowded.  Not  far  off 
were  stables  for  the  horses,  and  thus  the  waste  ground  was  not 
left  wholly  unoccupied. 

"  Was  this  cart  o'  yours  under  the  sheds  all  night  or  in  the 
open  ?'  asked  the  policeman,  with  an  air  of  penetration. 

'"  Just  outside  the  shed,  worn't  it,  Bill  ?"  replied  Tommy. 

Bill  said  nothing,  being  a  person  disinclined  to  commit  him' 
self. 

"  If  the  cart  was  outside,"  said  the  policeman,  "  then  the 
thing's  plain  enough.  You  started  from  there,  didn't  you,  with 
the  cart  in  the  afternoon  ?" 

"Ay,"  answered  Tommy. 

'*  And  there  was  a  little  sprinkle  o'  snow  in  the  cart  ?" 

"May  be  there  wos.  I  don't  remember  one  way  or  the 
ether." 

4 '  Then  you  must  be  a  stupid  if  you  don't  see  that  this  here 
cove,"  pointing  to  the  dead  man,  "got  drinking  too  much  last 
night,  lost  hisself ,  and  wandered  inside  the  hoarding,  where  he  , 
fell  asleep  in  the  cart." 

"  Snow  do  make  a  fellow  bloomin'  sleepy,"  one  of  the  crowd 
assented. 

"  Well,  he  never  wakened  no-mpre,  and  the  snow  had  covered 
oyer  his  body  when  you  started  with  the  cart,  and  him  in  it,  un- 
fceknown.  He's  light  enough  to  make  no  difference  to  the 
weight.  Was  it  dark  when  you  started  ?" 

"  One  of  them  spells  of  fog  was  on;  you  could  hardly  see  your 
liand,"  grunted  Tommy. 

**  Well  then,  it's  aa  plain  as— as  the  nose  on  your  face.1*  Mii 


THE   MARK    OF    CAIN.  HI 

the  poKoeman,  without  any  sarcastic  intentions.    "That's  how 
it  was." 

"Bravo,  Bobby  I"  cried  one  of  the  crowd.  "They  should 
make  you  an  inspector,  and  set  you  to  run  in  them  dynamiting 
Irish  coves." 

The  policeman  was  not  displeased  at  this  popular  tribute  to 

.  his  shrewdness,    Dignity  forbade  him,  however,  to  acknowledge 

\  the  compliment,  and  he  contented  himself  with  lifting  the  two 

j  handles  of  the  stretcher  which  was  next  him.    A  covering  was 

I  thrown  over  the  face  of  the  dead  man,  and  the  two  policemen, 

•with  their  burden,  began  to  make  their  way  northward  to  the 

hospital. 

A  small  mob  followed  them,  but  soon  dwindled  into  a  tail  of 
I  street  boys  and  girls.    These  accompanied  the  body  till  it  dis 
appeared  from  their  eyes  within  the  hospital  doors.    Then  they 
waited  for  half  an  hour  or  so,  and  at  last  seemed  to  evaporate 
into  the  fog. 

By  this  time  Tommy  and  his  mate  had  unharnessed  their 
horses  and  taken  them  to  stable,  the  cart  was  housed  (beneath 
the  sheds  this  time),  and  Bill  had  so  far  succumbed  to  the  genial 
influences  of  the  occasion  as  to  tear  off  his  blue  badge  and  follow 
Tommy  into  the  Hit  or  Miss. 

A  few  chance  acquaintances,  hospitable  and  curious,  accom 
panied  them,  intent  on  providing  with  refreshments  and  plying 
with  questions  the  heroes  of  so  remarkable  an  adventure.  It  is 
true  that  they  already  knew  all  Tommy  and  Bill  had  to  tell;  but 
there  is  a  pleasure,  in  moments  of  emotional  agitation,  in  re 
peating  at  intervals  the  same  questions,  and  making  over  and 
again  the  same  profound  remarks.  The  charm  of  these  per 
formances  was  sure  to  be  particularly  keen  within  the  very  walls 
where  the  dead  man  had  probably  taken  his  last  convivial  glass, 
and  where  some  light  was  certain  to  be  thrown,  by  the  landlady 
or  her  customers,  on  the  habits  and  history  of  poor  Dicky  Shields. 

CHAPTER  III. 

AN  ACADEMIC  POTHOUSE. 

THE  Hit  or  Miss  Tavern,  to  customers  (rough  customers,  at 

I  least)  who  entered  it  on  a  foggy  winter  night,  seemed  merely  a 

;  public  by  the  river's  brim.    Not  being  ravaged  and  parched  by 

|  a  thirst  for  the  picturesque,  Tommy  and  his  mates  failed  to 

I  pause  and  observe  the  architectural  peculiarities  of  the  building. 

'  Even  if  they  had  been  of  a  romantic  and  antiquarian  turn,  the 

:  fog  was  so  thick  that  they  could  have  seen  little  to  admire, 

though  there  was  plenty  to  be  admired.    The  Hit  or  Miss  was 

not  more  antique  in  its  aspect  than  modern  in  its  fortunes. 

Few  public-houses,  if  any,  boasted  for  their  landlord  such  a 

person  as  Robert  Maitland,  M.  A.,  Fellow  of  St.  Gatien's-  in  the 

University  of  Oxford. 

It  is,  perhaps,  desirable  and  even  necessary  to  explain  how 
this  arrangement  came  into  existence.  We  have  already  made 
acquaintance  with  "  mine  host"  of  the  Hit  or  Miss,  and  found 
him  to  be  by  no  means  the  rosy,  genial  Boniface  of  popular  tra* 


!6  THE   MARK    OF    CAIN. 

dition.  That  a  man  like  Maitland  should  be  the  lessee  of  & 
waterside  tavern,  like  the  Hit  or  Miss,  was  only  one  of  the 
anomalies  of  this  odd  age  of  ours.  An  age  of  revivals,  restora 
tions,  experiments — an  age  of  dukes  who  are  Socialists — an  age 
which  Sees  the  East-end  brawling  in  Pall  Mall,  and  parties  of 
West-end  tourists  personally  conducted  down  Ratclitfe  Highway 
—need  not  wonder  at  Maitland's  eccentric  choice  in  philan 
thropy. 

Maitland  was  an  orphan,  and  rich.  He  had  been  an  unpopular 
lonely  boy  at  a  public  school,  where  he  was  known  as  a  "  sap,'* 
or  assiduous  student,  and  was  remarked  for  an  almost  unnatural 
indifference  to  cricket  and  rowing.  At  Oxford,  as  he  had  plenty 
of  money,  he  had  been  rather  less  unpopular.  His  studies  ul 
timately  won  him  a  Fellowship  at  St.  Gatien's,  where  his  serv 
ices  as  a  tutor  were  not  needed.  Maitland  now  developed  a 
great  desire  to  improve  his  own  culture  by  acquaintance  with 
humanity,  and  to  improve  humanity  by  acquaintance  with 
himself.  This  view  of  life  and  duty  had  been  urged  on  him  by 
his  college  "  coach,"  philosopher,  and  friend.  Mr.  Joseph  Biel- 
by.  A.  man  of  some  energy  of  character,  Bielby  had  made 
Maitland  leave  his  desultory  reading  and  dull  'hospitalities 
at  St.  Gatien's  and  betake  himself  to  practical  philanthropy. 

"You  tell  me  you  don't  see  much  in  life,"  Bielby  had  said. 
il  Throw  yourself  into  the  life  of  others,  who  have  not  much  to 
live  on." 

Maitland  made  a  few  practical  experiments  in  philanthropy  at 
Oxford.  He  once  subsidized  a  number  of  glaziers  out  on  strike, 
and  thereon  had  liis  own  windows  broken  by  conservative  un 
dergraduates.  He  urged  on  the  citizens  the  desirability  of  run 
ning  a  steam  tramway  for  the  people  from  the  station  to  Cow- 
ley,  through  Worcester,  John's,  Baliol,  and  Wadham  Gardens, 
and  Magdalene.  His  signature  headed  a  petition  in  favor  of 
having  three  "devils,"  or  steam-whoopers,  yelling  in  different 
quarters  of  the  town  between  five  and  six  o'clock  every  morn 
ing,  that  the  artisans  might  be  awakened  in  time  for  the  labors 
of  the  day. 

As  Maitland's  schemes  made  more  noise  than  progress  at  Ox 
ford,  Bielby  urged  him  to  come  out  of  his  Alma  Mater  and  prac-j 
tice  benevolence  in  town.  He  had  a  great  scheme  for  building;, 
over  Hyde  Park,  and  creating  a  Palace  of  Art  in  Poplar  with, 
the  rents  of  the  new  streets.  While  pushing  this  ingenious  idea 
in  the  columns  of  the  Daily  Trumpet,  Maitland  looked  out  for; 
some  humbler  field  of  personal  usefulness.  The  happy  notion 
of  taking  a  philanthropic  public-house  occurred  to  him,  and  was; 
acted  upon  at  the  first  opportunity.  Maitland  calculated  that  in 
his  own  barroom  he  could  acquire  an  intimate  knowledge  of 
humanity  in  its  least  sophisticated  aspects.  He  would  sell  good 
beer,  instead  of  drugged  and  adulterated  stuff.  He  would  rais* 
the  tone  of  his  customers,  while  he  would  insensibly  gain  some 
of  their  exuberant  vitality.  He  would  shake  off  the  prig  (which 
he  knew  to  be  a  strong  element  in  his  nature),  and  would,  at  th«* 
same  time,  encourage  temperance  by  providing  good 
liquor. 


THE    HARK    GF    CAIN.  1? 

The  scheme  seemed  feasible,  and  the  next  thing  to  do  was  to 
acquire  a  tavern.  Now,  Maitland  had  been  in  the  Oxford  move 
ment  just  when  aBstheticism  was  fading  out,  like  a  lovely  sun- 
ctricken  lily,  while  philanthropy  and  political  economy  and  Mr, 
Henry  George  were  coining  in,  like  roaring  lions.  Thus  inMait- 
land  there  survived  a  little  of  the  old  leaven  of  the  student  of 
Renaissance,  a  touch  of  the  amateur  of '"  impressions"  and  of 
antiquated  furniture.  He  was  always  struggling  against  this 
*'  side,"  as  he  called  it,  of  his  "  culture,"  and  in  his  hours  ot 
reaction  he  was  all  for  steam  tramways,  "  devils,"  and  kin« 
dergartens  standing  where  they  ought  not.  But  there  were 
moments  when  his  old  innocent  craving  for  the  picturesque 
got  the  upper  hand;  and  in  one  of  those  moments  Maitland 
nad  come  across  the  chance  of  acquiring  the  lease  of  the  Hit  or 
Miss. 

That  ancient  bridge-house  pleased  him,  and  he  closed  with  hia 
opportunity.  The  Hit  or  Miss  was  as  attractive  to  an  artistic  as 
most  public-houses  are  to  a  thirsty  soul.  When  the  Embank 
ment  was  made,  the  bridge-house  had  been  one  of  a  street  of 
similar  quaint  and  many-gabled  old  buildings  that  leaned  up 
against  each  other  for  mutual  support  near  the  river's  edge. 
But  the  Embankment  slowly  brought  civilization  that  way:  the 
dirty  rickety  old  houses  were  both  condemned  and  demolished, 
till  at  last  only  the  tavern  remained,  with  hoardings  and  empty 
spaces,  and  a  dustyard  round  it. 

The  house  etcod  at  what  had  been  a  corner.  The  red-tiled 
roof  was?-  so  high-pitched  as  to  be  almost  perpendicular.  The 
dormer  windows  of  the  attics  were  as  picturesque  as  anything 
in  Nuremberg.  The  side- walls  were  broken  in  their  surface  by 
little  odd  red- tiled  roofs  covering  projecting  casements,  and  the 
.  house  was  shored  up  and  supported  by  huge  wooden  beams. 
You  entered  (supposing  you  to  enter  a  public-house)  by  a  low 
browed  door  in  front,  if  you  passed  in  as  ordinary  customers 
did.  At  one  corner  was  an  odd  little  board,  with  the  old' 
fashioned  sign: 

"JACK'S  BRIDGE  HOUSE. 
"HiT  OR  Miss— LUCK'S  ALL." 

But  there  was  a  side-door,  reached  by  walking  down  a  cov 
ered  way,  over  which  the  strong  oaken  rafters  (revealed  by  the 
lanflaking  of  the  plaster)  lay  bent  and  warped  by  years  and  the 
weight  Of  the  building.  From  this  door  you  saw  the  side,  or, 
rather,  the  back,  which  the  house  kept  for  its  intimates;  a  side 
even  more  picturesque  with  red-tiled  roofs  and  dormer  windows 
than  that  which  faced  the  street.  The  passage  led  down  to  a 
elum,  and  on  the  left  hand,  as  you  entered,  lay  the  empty  space 
and  the  dustyard  where  the  carts  were  sheltered  in  sheds,  or  left 
beneath  the  sky,  behind  the  ruinous  hoarding. 

"Within,  the  Hit  or  Miss  looked  cozy  enough  to  persons  enter 
ing  out  of  the  cold  and  dark.  There  was  heat,  light,  and  a  bar- 
parlor  with  a  wide,  old-fashioned  chimney-place,  provided  with 
seats  within  the  ingle.  On  these  little  benches  did  Tommy  and  his 
friends  make  baste  to  nlace  themselves,  comfortably  disposed, 


18  THE    MARK    OF    CAIN. 

and  thawing  rapidly,  in  a  room  within  a  room,  as  it  were;  fb* 
the  big  chimney-place  was  like  a  little  chamber  by  itself.  No* 
on  an  ordinary  night  could  such  a  party  have  gained  admittance 
to  the  bar-parlor,  where  Maitland  himself  was  wont  to  appear, 
now  and  then,  when  he  visited  the  tavern,  and  to  produce  by 
his  mere  presence,  and  without  in  the  least  intending  it,  an  Early 
Closing  Movement. 

But  to-night  was  no  common  night,  and  Mrs.  Gullick,  tha 
-widowed  landlady,  or  rather  manager,  was  as  eager  to  hear  all 
the  story  of  the  finding  of  poor  Dicky  Shields  as  any  of  the 
crowd  outside  had  been.  Again  and  again  the  narrative'was  re 
peated,  till  conjecture  once  more  began  to  take  the  place  of  as« 
aertion. 

"  I  wonder,"  asked  one  of  the  men,  "  how  old  Dicky  got  the 
money  for  a  boose  ?" 

"  The  money,  ay,  and  the  chance,''  said  another.  "  That 
daughter  of  his— a  nice-looking  girl  she  is — kept  poor  Dicky 
pretty  tight." 

"  Didn't  let  him  get "  the  epigrammatist  of  the  company 

was  just  beginning  to  put  in,  when  the  brilliant  witticism  he 
was  about  to  utter  burst  at  once  on  the  intellect  of  all  his 
friends. 

"  Didn'-t  let  him  get  tight,  you  was  a-goin'  to  say,  Tommy," 
howled  three  or  four  at  once,  and  there  ensued  a  great  noise  of 
the  slapping  of  thighs,  followed  by  chuckles  which  exploded  at 
intervals  like  crackers. 

"  Dicky  'ad  been  'avin'  bad  times  for  long,"  the  first  speaker 
went  on.  "  I  guess  he  'ad  about  tattooed  all  the  parish  as  would 
stand  a  pint  for  tattooing.  There  was  hardly  a  square  inch  of 
skin  not  made  beautiful  forever  about  here." 

"  Ah!  and  there  was  no  sale  for  his  beastesses  and  birdses, 
nuther;  or  else  he  was  clean  sold  out,  and  hadn't  no  capital  to 
renew  his  stock  of  hairy  cats  and  young  parrots." 

"  The  very  stuffed  beasts,  perched  above  old  Dicky's  shop,  had 
got  to  look  real  mangy  and  moldy.  I  think  I  see  them  now; 
the  fox  in  the  middle,  the  long-legged  moulting  foreign  bird  at 
one  end,  and  that  'ere  shiny  old  rhinoceros  in  the  porch  under 
them  picters  of  the  dying  deer  and  t'other  deer  swimming. 
Poor  old  Dicky!  Where  he  raised  the  price  o'  a  drain,  let  alone 
a  boose,  beats  me,  it  does." 

"  Why,"  said  Mrs.  Gnllick,  who  had  been  in  the  outer  room 
during  the  conversation,  "why,  it  was  a  sailor  gentleman  that 
'stood  Dicky  treat.  A  most  pleasant- spoken  man  for  a  sailor, 
with  a  big  black  beard.  He  used  to  meet  Dicky  here,  in  the 
private  room  up-stairs,  and  there  Dicky  used  to  do  him  a  turn  of 
hie  trade — tattooing  him,  like.  '  I'm  doing  him  to  pattern,  mum,* 
Dicky  sez,  sez  he;  *  a  fac-simile  o'  myself,  mum.'  It  wasn't 
much  they  drank,  neither — just  a  couple  of  pints;  for  eez  the 
•aailor  gentleman,  he  sez,  '  I'm  afeared,  mum,  our  friend  here 
can't  carry  much  even  of  your  capital  stuff.  We  must  excuse,* 
*ez  he,  *  the  failings  of  an  artis' ;  but  I  doesn't  want  his  hand  to 
••bake  or  slip  when  he's  a-doin'  me,'  sez  he.  '  Might  spile  th« 
pattern,'  he  sez,  •  also  hurt.'  And  I  wouldn't  have  served  okt 


THE    MARK    OF    CAIN.  1ft 

ttcky  with  more  than  was  good  for  him,  myself,  not  if  it  wa* 
ever  so,  I  wouldn't.  I  promised  that  poor  daughter  of  his,  be- : 
fore  Mr.  Maitland  sent  her  to  school — years  ago  now — I  promised 
as  I  would  keep  an  eye  on  her  father,  and  speak  of—  JL 
hangel,  if  here  isn't  Mr.  Maitland  his  very  self!" 

And  Mrs.  Gullick  arose,  with  bustling  courtesy,  to  welcome 
her  landlord,  the  Fellow  of  St.  Gatien's. 

Immediately  there  was  a  stir  among  the  men  seated  in  the 
ingle.  One  by  one— some  with  a  muttered  pretense  at  excuse, 
others  with  shamefaced  awkwardness — they  shouldered  and 
shuffled  out  of  the  room.  Maitland's  appearance  had  produced 
its  usual  effect,  and  he  was  left  alone  with  his  tenant. 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Gullick,"  said  poor  Maitland,  ruefully,  "  I  cam* 
here  for  a  chat  with  our  friends — a  little  social  relaxation^-on 
economic  questions,  and  I  seem  to  have  frightened  them  all 
away." 

"Oh,  sir,  they're  a  rough  lot,  and  don't  think  themselves; 
company  for  the  likes  of  you.  "  But,"  said  Mrs.  Gullick,  eagerly 
— with  the  delight  of  the  oldest  aunt  in  telling  the  saddest 
tale— "  you've  heard  this  hawfui  story?  Poor  Miss  Margaret, 

sir!    It  makes  my  blood " 

What  physiological  effect  on  the  circulation  Mrs.  Gullick  was 
about  to  ascribe  to  alarming  intelligence  will  never  be  known; 
for  Maitland,  growing  a  little  more  pallid  than  usual,  inter 
rupted  her: 

"  What  has  happened  to  Miss  Margaret  ?    Tell  me,  quick!" 
"  Nothing  to  herself,  poor  lamb,  but  her  poor  father,  sir." 
Maitland  seemed  sensibly  relieved. 
•••  Well,  what  about  her  father  ?" 

"  Gone,  sir— gone!  In  a  cartload  o'  snow,  tla-a  very  evening, 
he  was  found,  just  outside  o'  this  very  door. 

"  In  a  cartload  of  snow!"  cried  Maitland.  "Do  you  mean 
that  he  went  away  in  it,  or  that  he  •was  found  in  it  dead  ?'' 

"  Yes,  indeed,  sir;  dead  for  many  hours,  the  doctor  said;  and 
in  this  very  house  he  had  been  no  later  than  laet  night,  and 
quite  steady,  sir,  I  do  assure  you.  He  had  been  steady — oh, 
steady  for  weeks." 

Maitland  assumed  an  expression  of  regret,  which  no  doubt  h» 
felt  to  a  certain  extent.  But  in  his  sorrow  there  could  not  but 
have  been  some  relief.  For  Maitland,  in  the  course  of  his, phil 
anthropic  labors,  had  known  old  Dicky  Shields,  the  naturalist 
and  professional  tattooer,  as  a  hopeless  mauvais  mjet.  But 
Dicky's  daughter,  Margaret,  had  been  a  daisy  nourishing  by  the 
grimy  waterside,  till  the  young  social  reformer  transplanted  her 
to  a  school  in  the  purer  air  of  Devonshire.  He  was  having  her 
educated  there,  and  after  she  was  educated— why,  then,  Mait 
land  had  at  one  time  entertained  his  own  projects  or  dreams. 
In  the  way  of  their  accomplishment  Dicky  Shields  had  been  felt 
as  an  obstacle;  not  that  he  objected— on  the  other  hand,  he  had 
tnade  Maitland  put  his  views  in  writing.  There  \vere  times — 
there  had  lately,  above  all,  been  times— when  Maitland  reflected 
uneasily  on  the  conditional  promises  in  this  document.  Dicky 
was  not  SA  sligibla  &£fcar-ia-law,  however  good  and  pretty  * 


SO  THE    MARK    OF    CAIN. 

girl  hfe  daughter  might  be.  But  now  Dicky  had  ceased  to  be  an 
obstacle;  he  was  no  longer  (as  he  certainly  had  been)  in  any 
man's  way;  he  was  nobody's  enemy  now,  not  even  his  own. 

The  vision  of  all  these  circumstances  passed  rapidly,  like  a 
sensation  rather  than  a  set  of  coherent  thoughts,  through  Mait- 
land's  consciousness. 

"  Tell  me  everything  you  knew  of  this  wretched  business,"  he 
said,  rising  and  closing  the  door  which  led  into  the  outer  room. 

"Well,  sir,  you  have  not  been  here  for  some  weeks,  or  you 
would  know  that  Dicky  had  found  a  friend  lately — an  old  ship 
mate,  or  petty-officer,  he  called  him — a  sailorman.  Well-to-do, 
he  seemed;  the  mate  of  a  merchant  vessel  he  might  be.  He  had 
known  Dicky,  I  think,  long  ago  at  sea,  and  he'd  bring  him  here 
*  to  yarn  with  him,'  he  said,  once  or  twice  it  might  be  in  this 
room,  but  mainly  in  the  parlor  up-stairs.  He  let  old  Dicky  tat 
too  him  a  bit,  up  there,  to  put  him  in  the  way  of  earning  an 
honest  penny  by  his  trade — a  queer  trade  it  was.  Never  more 
than  a  pint,  or  a  glass  of  hot  rum  and  water,  would  he  give  the 
old  man.  Most  considerate  and  careful,  sir,  he  ever  was.  Well, 
last  night  he  brought  him  in  about  nine,  and  they  sat  rather  late; 
and  about  twelve  the  sailor  comes  in,  rubbing  his  eyes,  and 
Good-night,  mum,'  sez  he.  '  My  friend's  been  gone  for  an  hour. 
An  early  bird  he  is,  and  I've  been  asleep  by  myself.  If  you 
please,  I'll  just  settle  our  little  score.  It's  the  last  for  a  long 
time,  for  I'm  bound  to-morrow  for  the  China  Seas,  eastward. 
Oh,  mum,  a  sailor's  life!'  So  he  pays,  changing  a  half-sovereign, 
like  a  gentleman,  and  put  he  goes,  and  that's  the  last  I  ever  see 
o'  poor  Dicky  Shields  till  he  was  brought  in  this  afternoon,  out 
of  the  snow-cart,  cold  and  stiff,  sir." 

' '  And  how  do  you  suppose  all  this  happened  ?  How  did  Shields 
get  into  the  cart  ?" 

"Well,  that's  just  what  they've  been  wondering  at,  though 
the  cart  was  handy  and  uncommon  convenient  for  a  man  as  'ad 
too  much,  if  'ad  lie  'ad;  as  believe  it  I  cannot,  seeing  a  glass  of 
hot  rum  and  water  would  not  intoxicate  a  babe.  May  be  he  felt 
fairt,  and  laid  down  a  bit,  and  never  wakened.  But,  Lord  a 
mercy,  whp.t's  that  f  screamed  Mrs.  Gullick,  leaping  to  her  feet 
in  terror. 

The  latched  door  which  communicated  with  the  staircase  had 
been  burst  open,  and  a  small  brown  bear  had  rushed  erect  into 
the  room,  and,  with  a  cry,  had  thrown  itself  on  Mrs.  Gullick'a 
bosom. 

"  Well,  if  ever  I  'ad  a  fright!"  that  worthy  lady  exclaimed^ 
turning  toward  the  startled  Maitland,  and  embracing  at  the 
same  time  the  little  animal  in  an  affectionate  clasp.  "  Well,  if 
ever  there  was  such  a  child  as  you,  Lizer!  What  is  the  matte* 
with  you  now  f" 

"Oh,  mother,"  cried  the  bear,  "I  rlreamedof  that  big  bird  I 
saw  on  the  roof,  and  I  ran  down-stairs  before  I  was  'arf  awake,  ] 
was  that  horful  frightened." 

"  Well,  you  just  go  up-stairs  again— -and  here's  a  sweetcake 
for  you — and  you  take  this  night-light,"  said  Mrs.  Gullick,  pro 
ducing  the  articles  she  mentioned,  "  and  put  it  in  the  basin  card* 


TBE    MARK    OF    CAIN.  U 

ful,  and  knock  on  the  floor  with  the  poker  if  you  want  me.     If 

it  wasn't  for  thafc  bearskin  Mr.  Toopny  was  kind  enough  to  let 

you  keep,  you'd  get  your  death  o'  cold,  you  would,  running 

about  in  the  night.    And  look  'ere,  Lizer,"  she  added,  patting 

the  child  affectionately  on  the  shoulder,  "  do  get  that  there  bird5 

out  o'  your  head.     It's  just  nothing  but  indigestion  conies  o'  you 

,  and  the  other  children — himps  they  may  well  call  you,  and 

|  himps  I'm  sure  you  are — always  wasting  your  screws  on  pastry 

"1  and  lemonade  and  raspberry  vinegar.    Just  nothing  but  indiges- 

J  tion." 

Thus  admonished,  the  bear  once  more  threw  its  arms,  in  a 
tight  embrace,  about  Mrs.  Gullick's  neck;  and  then,  without  la v- 
^  ishing  attention  on  Maitland,  passed  out  of  the  door,  and  could 
'  be  heard  skipping  up-stairs. 

"  I'm  sure,  sir,  I  ask  your  pardon,"  exclaimed  poor  Mrs.  Gul- 
lick;  "but  Lizer  s  far  from  well  just  now,  and  she  did  have  a 
ecare  last  night,  or  else,  which  is  more  likely,  her  little  inside 
(saving  your  presence)  has  been  upset  with  a  supper  the  man 
ager  gave  all  them  pantermime  himps." 

"  But,  Mrs.  Gullick,  why  is  she  dressed  like  a  bear?" 
"She's  such  a  favorite  with  the  manager,  sir,  and  the  property 
man,  and  all  of  them  at  the  Hilarity,  you  can't  think,  sir,"  said 
Mrs.  Gullick,  not  in  the  least  meaning  to  impugn  Mainland's 
general  capacity  for  abstract  speculation.  "  A  regular  little 
genius  that  child  is,  though  I  says  it  as  shouldn't.  Ah.  sir,  she 
takes  it  from  her  poor  father,  "sir."  And  Mrs,  Gullick  raised 
her  apron  to  her  eyes. 

Now  the  late  Mr.  Gullick  had  been  a  clovrn  of  considerable  ' 
merit;  but,  like  too  many  artists,  he  was  addicted  beyond  meas 
ure  to  convivial  enjoyment.  Maitland  had  befriended  him  in 
his  last  days,  and  had  appointed  Mrs.  Gullick  (and  a  capital  ap 
pointment  it  was)  to  look  after  his  property  when  he  became 
landlord  of  the  Hit  or  Miss. 

"  What  a  gift,  sir,  that  child  always  had!    Why,  when  she 

was  no  more  than  four,  I  well  remember  her  going  to  fetch  the 

beer,  and  her  being  a  little  late,  and  Gullick  with  the  thirst  on 

,    him,  when  she  came  in  with  the  jug,  he  made  a  cuff  at  her,  not 

7.  to  hurt  her,  and  if  the  little  thing  didn't  drop  the  jug,  and  take 

\,  the  knap!    Lord,  I  thought  Gullick  would  'a  died  laughing,  and 

;:  him  so  thirsty,  too." 

"Take  the  knap?"  said  Maitland,  who  imagined  that  "the 
knap  "  must  be  some  malady  incident  to  childhood. 

"  Oh,  sir,  it's  when  one  person  cuffs  at  another  on  the  stage, 
you  know,  and  the  other  slaps  his  own  hand,  on  the  far  side,  to 
make  the  noise  of  a  box  on  the  ear;  that's  what  we  call  *  taking 
the  knap '  in  the  profession.  And  the  beer  was  spilt,  and  the 
jug  broken,  and  all — Lizer  was  that  clever  ?  And  this  is  her 
eecond  season,  just  ended,  as  a  himp  at  the  Hilarity  pantermime; 
and  they're  that  good  to  her,  they  let  her  bring  her  bearskin 
home  with  her,  what  she  wears,  you  know,  sir,  as  the  Little 
Bear  in  '  The  Three  Bears,'  don't  you  know,  sir." 

Maitland  was  acquainted  with  the  legend  of  the  Great  Bear, 
the  Middle  Baar,  a»4  the  Little  Tiny  Small  Bear,  and  had  eve* 


28  THE   MARK    OF   CAIN. 

proved,  in  a  learned  paper,  that  the  Three  Bears  were  the  Su*. 
the  Moon,  and  the  Multitude  of  Stars  in  the  Aryan  myth.  But 
he  had  not  seen  the  pantomime  founded  on  the  traditional  nar 
rative. 

"But  what  was  the  child  saying  about  a  big  bird?"  he  asked. 
"What  was  it  thai  frightened  her?" 

"  Oh,  sir,  I  think  it  was  just  tiredness,  and  may  be,  a  little  some* 
thing, hot  at  that  supper  last  night;  and,  besides,  seeing  GO  many 
queer  things  in  pan termhnes  might  put  notions  in  a  child's  head. 
But  when  she  came  home  last  night,  a  little  late,  Lizer  was  very 
itrange.  She  vowed  and  swore  she  had  seen  a  large  bird,  far 
bigger  than  any  common  bird,  skim  over  the  street.  Then  when 
I  had  put  her  to  bed  in  the  attic,  down  she  flies,  screaming  she 
law  the  bird  on  the  roof.  I  had  hard  work  to  get  her  to  sleep. 
to-day  I  made  her  lay  a-bed  and  wear  her  theater  panteuaime 
bearskin,  that  fits  her  like  another  skin — and  she'll  be  too  big 
for  it  next  year — just  to  keep  her  warm  in  that  cold  garret. 
That's  all  about  it,  sir.  She'll  be  well  enough  in  a  day  or  two, 
idll  Lizer." 

"I  am  sure  I  hope  she  will,  Mrs.  Gullick,"  said  Maitland; 
"  and,  as  I  am  passing  his  way,  I  will  ask  Dr.  Barton  to  call  and 
see  the  little  girl.  Now  I  must  go,  and  I  think  the  less  we  say 
fco  any  one  about  Miss  Shields,  you  know,  the  better.  It  will  be 
very  dreadful  for  her  to  learn  about  her  father's  death,  and  we 
snust  try  to  prevent  her  from  hearing  Iiow  it  happened." 

"Certainly,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Gullick,  bobbing;  "and  being  safe 
away  at  school,  sir,  we'll  hope  she  won't  be  told  no  more  that* 
she  needn't  know  about  it." 

Maitland  went  forth  into  the  thick  night;  a  half-hearted 
Ix>ndon  thaw  was  filling  the  shivering  air  with  a  damp  brown 
fog. 

He  walked  to  the  nearest  telegraph  office,  and  did  not  observe, 
in  the  raw  darkness  and  in  the  confusion  of  his  thoughts,  that 
he  was  followed  at  no  great  distance  by  a  man  muffled  up  in  a 
great-coat  and  a  woolen  comforter.  The  stranger  almost 
shouldered  against;  him,  as  he  stood  reading  his  telegram,  and 
conscientiously  docking  off  a  word  here  and  there  to  save  three 
pence: 

"FROM  ROBERT  MAITLAND  TO  Miss  MABLETT. 
"The  Dovecot.  Conisbeare, 

"  ftverton. 

"I  come  to-morrow,  leaving  by  10.30  train.  Do  not  let  Mar- 
garet  see  newspaper.  Her  father  dead.  Break  news." 

This  telegram  gave  Maitland,  in  his  excited  state,  more 
trouble  to  construct  than  might  have  been  expected.  We  all 
know  the  wondrous  badness  of  post-office  pens  or  pencils,  and 
how  they  tear  or  blot  the  paper  when  we  are  in  a  hurry;  and 
Maitland  *elt  hurried,  though  there  was  no  need  for  'haste. 
Meantime  the  man  in  the  woolen  comforter  was  buying  stamps, 
and,  finishing  his  bargain  before  the  dispatch  was  stamped  an<l 
delivered,  went  out  into  the  fog,  and  was  no  more  seen. 


THE   M#4K    OF   CAHK 


CEA  ?TER  IV. 
MIS&  MABLETT'S. 

OlRLSf  schools  are  chilly  places.  The  unfortunate  victims* 
when  you  chance  to  meet  whem  mostly  look  but  half -alive,  and 
dismally  cold.  Their  no&2&  (however  charming  these  features 
may  become  in  a  year  or  hvo,  or  even  may  be  in  the  holidays) 
appear  somehow  of  a  frosty  temperature  in  the  long  dull  months 
of  school-time.  The  ha^ds,  too,  of  the  fair  pupils  are  apt  to 
seem  larger  than  comnron,  inclined  to  blue  in  color,  and,  gen- 
„  erally  are  suggestive  of  s  aadequate  circulation.  A  tendency  t# 
I  get  as  near  the  fire  as  possible  (to  come  within  the  frontiers  of 
the  hearth-rug  is  forbidden),  and  to  cower  beneath  shawls,  is  also 
characteristic  of  joyous  girlhood— school-girlhood,  that  is.  In 
fact,  one  thinks  of  a  g'yls'  school  as  too  frequently  a  spot  where 
no  one  takes  any  lively  exercise  (for  walking  in  a  funeral  pro 
cession  is  not  exercis-a,  or  mutes  might  be  athletes),  and  where 
there  is  apt  to  be  a  pervading  impression  of  insufficient  food,  in 
sufficient  clothing,  ami  genera!  unsatisfied  tedium. 

Miss  Mariettas  Establishment  for  the  Highest  Education  of 
Girls,  more  briefly  known  as  "  The  Dovecot,  Conisbeare,"  wa» 
no  exception,  on  a  particularly  cold  February  day — the  day  after 
Dicky  Shields  was  found  dead—to  these  pretty  general  rules. 
"The  Dovecot,  befoio  it  became  a  girl's  school,  was,  no  doubt,  a 
pleasant  English  borne,  where  "the  fires  wass  coot,"  as  the 
Highlaudnian  said.  The  red-brick  house,  with  its  lawn  sloping 
down  to  the  field  j.  all  level  with  snow,  stood  at  a  little  distance 
from  the  main  ro.j,d,  at  the  end  of  a  handsome  avenue  of  Scotch 
pines.  But  the  fires  at  Miss  Mariettas  were  not  good  on  this  Feb- 
ruary  morning.  They  never  ivere  good  at  the  Dovecot.  Miss 
Harlett  was  om,  of  those  people  who,  fortunately  for  themselves, 
and  unfortunately  for  persons  dwelling  under  their  roofs,  never 
feel  cold,  or  never  know  what  they  feel.  Therefore,  Miss  Mar- 
lett  never  poked  the  fire,  which,  consequently  used  to  grow  black 
toward  its  early  death,  and  was  only  revived,  at  dangerously  long 
4  intervals,  by  thn  most  minute  doses  of  stimulant  in  the  shape  or 
*J  rather  damp  small  coals.  Now  supplies  of  coal  had  run  low  at 
$  the  Dovecot,  for  the  very  excellent  reason  that  the  roads  were 
snowed  up,  and  that  convoys  of  the  precious  fuel  were  scarcely 
to  be  urged  along  the  heavy  ways. 

This  did  not  matter  much  to  the  equable  temperament  of  Mis* 
Marlett;  but  it  did  matter  a  great  deal  to  her  shivering  pupils, 
three  of  whom  were  just  speeding  their  morning  toilet,  oy  the 
light  of  one  candle,  at  the  pleasant  hour  of  five  minutes  to  seven 
on  a  frosty  morning. 

"Oh,  dearl"  said  one  maiden — Janey  Harinan  by  name— 
whose  blond  complexion  should  have  been  pink  and  white,  but 
was  mottled  with  alien  and  unbecoming  hues,  "  why  don't  thai 
old  Cat  let  us  have  fires  to  dress  by  ?  Gracious,  Margaret,  how 
I4ack  your  fingers  are!" 
"  Ttar  and  Leant  tret  them  clean."  said  Macgaret,  holding  «• 


two  very  pretty  dripping  hands,  and  quoting,  In  mock  heroif 
parody  s 

*'  Ho,  dogs  of  false  Tarentum, 
Are  not  my  hands  washed  white?" 

19  No  talking  In  the  bedrooms,  young  ladies,"  came  a  voic«, 
accompanied  by  an  icy  draught,  from  the  door,  which  was 
opened  just  enough  to  admit  a  fleeting  vision  of  Miss  Marlett's 
personal  charms. 

"  I  was  only  repeating  my  lay,  Miss  Marlett,**  replied  th« 
maiden  thus  rebuked,  in  a  tone  of  injured  innocence    -  • 
•*  *  Ho,  dogs  of  false  Tarentum,'  " 

—and  the  door  closed  again  on  Miss  Marlett,  who  had  not  alto 
gether  the  best  of  it  in  this  affair  of  outposts  and  could  not  help 
feeling  as  if  "  that  Miss  Shields  "  was  laughing  at  her. 

*'  Old  Cat!"  the  young  lady  went  on,  in  a  subdued  whisper. 
"  But  no  wonder  my  hands  were  a  little  black,  Janey.  You  for 
get  that  it's  niy  week  to  be  stoker  Already,  girls,  by  an  early 
and  unexpected  movement,  I  have  cut  off  some  of  the  enemy's 
supplies. "' 

So  speaking,  Miss  Margaret  Shields  proudly  displayed  a  small 
deposit  of  coals,  stored  for  secrecy,  in  the  bottom  of  a  clothes- 
basket. 

"  Gracious,  Daisy,  how  clever!  Well,  you  are  something  We* 
a  stoker,"  exclaimed  the  third  girl,  who  by  this  time  had  finished 
dressing;  "  we  shall  have  a  blaze  to-night." 

Now,  it  must  be  said  that  at  Miss  Marlett's  school,  by  an  un 
usual  and  inconsistent  concession  to  comfort  and  sanitary  prin 
ciples,  the  elder  girls  were  allowed  to  have  fires  in  their  bed 
rooms  at  night,  in  winter.  But  seeing  that  these  fires  resembled 
the  laughter  of  the  wicked,  inasmuch  as  they  were  brief -lived  aa 
the  crackling  of  thorns  under  pots,  the  girls  were  driven  to  make 
predatory  attacks  on  fuel  wherever  it  could  be  found.  Some 
times,  one  is  sorry  to  say,  they  robbed  each  other's  fireplaces, 
and  concealed  the  coal  in  their  pockets.  But  this  conduct— re 
sembling  what  is  fabled  of  the  natives  of  the  Scilly  Islands,  that 
they  "  eke  out  a  precarious  livelihood  by  taking  in  each  other's 
washing" — led  to  strife  and  bickering;  so  that  the  stoker  for 
the  week  (as  the  girl  appointed  to  collect  these  supplies  was 
called)  had  to  infringe  a  little  on  the  secret  household  stores  of 
Miss  Marlett.  This  week,  as  it  happened,  Margaret  Shields  was 
the  stoker,  and  she  so  bore  herself  in  her  high  office  as  to  extort 
the  admiration  of  the  very  housemaids^ 

44  Even  the  ranks  of  Tusculuin 
Could  scarce  forbear  a  cheer.'* 

4f  we  may  again  quote  the  author  who  was  at  that  time  Misa 
Shields'  favorite  poet.  Miss  Shields  had  not  studied  Mr.  Matthew 
Arnold,  and  was  mercifully  unaware  that  not  to  detect  the 
•'  pinchbeck"  in  the  Lays  is  the  sign  of  a  groveling  nature. 

Before  she  was  sent  to  Miss  Marlett's,  four  years  ere  this  date,. 
Margaret  Shields'  instruction  had  been  limited.  "The  best. 
thing  ihat  Could  be  said  for  it,"  as  the  old  sporting  prophet  ro 

" 


THE   MARK    OF   CAEV.  96 

eleemosynary.*  The  Chelsea  School  Board  fees  could  bttfc  rarely 
be  extracted  from  old  Dicky  Shields.  But  Robert  Maitland, 
when  still  young  in  philanthropy,  had  seen  the  clever,  merry, 
brown-eyed  child  at  some  school  treat,  or  inspection,  or  other 
function;  had  covenanted  in  some  sort  with  her  shiftless  parent^ 
had  rescued  the  child  from  the  streets,  and  sent  her  as  a  pupil  to 
Miss  Marlett's.  Like  Mr.  Day,  the  accomplished  author  of 
"  Sanclford  and  Merton,"  and  creator  of  the  immortal  Mr.  Bar 
low,  Robert  Maitland  had  conceived  the  hope  that  he  might  have 
a  girl  educated  up  to  his  own  intellectual  standard,  and  made, 
or  *«  ready-made,"  a  helpmate  meet  for  him.  He  was.,  in  a  more 
or  less  formal  way,  the  guardian  of  Margaret  Shields,  and  the 
ward  might  be  expected  (by  any  one  who  did  not  know  human 
nature  any  better)  to  blossom  into  the  wife. 

Maitland  could  "  please  himself,"  as  people  say:  that  is,  in  his 
choice  of  a  partner  he  had  no  relations  to  please — no  one  but  the 
elect  young  lady,  who,  after  all,  might  not  be  "  pleased  "  with 
alacrity. 

"Whether  pleased  or  not,  there  could  be  no  doubt  that  Margaret 
Shields  was  extremely  pleasing.  Beside  her  two  shivering 
chamber-mates  ('*  chamber-dekyns "  they  would  have  been 
called,  in  Oxford  slang,  four  hundred  years  ago),  Miss  Shields 
looked  quite  brilliant,  warm,  and  comfortable,  even  in  the  eager 
and  the  nipping  air  of  Miss  Marlett's  shuddering  establishment, 
and  by  the  frosty  light  of  a  single  candle.  This  young  lady  waa 
tall  and  firmly  fashioned;  a  nut-brown  maid,  with^a  rudriy  glow 
on  her  cheeks,  with  glossy  hair  rolled  up  in  a  big  tight  knot,  and 
with  a  smile  (which  knew  when  it  was  well  off)  always  faithful 
to  her  lips.  These  features,  it  is  superfluous  to  say  in  speaking 
of  a  heroine,  "  were  rather  too  large  for  regular  beauty."  She 
was  perfectly  ready  to  face  the  enemy  (in  which  light  she 
humorously  regarded  her  mistress)  when  the  loud  cracked  bell 
jangled  at  seven  o'clock  exactly,  and  the  drowsy  girls  cams 
trooping  from  the  dormitories  down  into  the  wintery  class-rooms. 

Arithmetical  diversions,  in  a  cold  chamber,  were  the  in 
tellectual  treat  which  awaited  Margaret  and  her  companions. 
Arithmetic  and  slatee!  Does  any  owe  remember — can  any  one 
forget— how  horribly  distasteful  a  slate  can  be  when  the  icy 
fingers  of  youth  have  to  clasp  that  cold  educational  formation 
(Silurian,  I  believe),  and  to  fumble  with  the  greasy  slate-pencil? 
vVith  her  Colenso  in  her  lap,  Margaret  Shields  grappled  for  some 
time  with  the  mysteries  of  tare  and  tret.  "  Tare  an'  'ouns,  1 
call  it,"  whispered  Janey  Harman,  who  had  taken,  in  the 
holidays,  a  "  course  "  of  Lever's  Irish  novels.  Margaret  did  not 
make  very  satisfactory  progress  with  her  commercial  calcula 
tions.  After  hopelessly  befogging  herself,  she  turned  to  that 
portion  of  Colenso's  engaging  work  which  is  most  palpitating 
with  actuality: 

"  If  ten  Surrey  laborers,  in  mowing  a  field  of  forty  acres,  drink 
twenty-three  quarts  of  beer,  how  much  cider  will  thirteen 
Devonshire  laborers  consume  in  building  a  stone  wall  of  thirteen 
roods  four  poles  in  length,  and  four  feet  six  in  height?1 

problem,  ft£sof  proved  too  severs  for  Margaret's  mat&e* 


m  THB   MARK    OF 

nratieal  endowments,  and  (it  is  extraordinary  how  cMdisli  tita 
*ery  greatest  girls  can  be)  she  was  playing  at  "oughts  and 
crosses"  with  Janey  Harman  when  the  arithmetic  master  came 
round.  He  sat  down,  not  unwillingly,  beside  Miss  Shields, 
erased,  without  comment,  the  sportive  diagrams,  and  set  him 
self  vigorously  to  elucidate  (by  •'  the  low  cunning  of  algebra") 
the  difficult  sum  from  Colenso. 

•'  You  see,  it  is  like  this,"  he  said,  mumbling  rapidly,  and 
scribbling  a  series  of  figures  and  letters  which  the  pupil  wai 
expected  to  follow  with  intelligent  interest.  But  the  rapidity  of 
the  processes  quite  dazed  Margaret:  a  result  not  unusual  when 
the  teacher  understands  his  topic  so  well,  and  so  much  as  a  mat* 
ter  of  course  that  he  cannot  make  allowance  for  the  benighted 
darkness  of  the  learner. 

'*  Ninety-five  firkins  fourteen  gallons  three  quarts.  You  see> 
it's  quite  simple,"  said  Mr.  Cleghorn,  the  arithmetic  master. 

"  Oh,  thank  you;  I  see,"  said  Margaret,  with  the  kind  readi 
ness  of  woman,  who  would  profess  to  "see"  the  Secret  of 
Hegel,  or  the  inmost  heart  of  the  Binomial  Theorem,  or  the 
nature  of  the  duties  of  cover-point,  or  the  latest  hypothesis 
about  the  frieze  of  the  Parthenon,  rather  than  be  troubled  with 
prolonged  explanations,  which  the  expositor,  after  all,  might 
find  it  inconvenient  to  give. 

Arithmetic  and  algebra  were  not  this  scholar's  for  te;  and  no 
young  lady  in  Miss  Marlett's  establishment  was  so  hungry,  or  so 
glad  when  eight  o'clock  struck  and  the  bell  rang  for  breakfast, 
as  Margaret  Shields. 

Breakfast  at  Miss  Mariettas  was  not  a  convivial  meal.    Thera 
was  a  long  narrow  table,  with  cioss-tables  at  each  end,  these 
high  seats,  or  dais,  being  occupied  by  Miss  Marlett  and  the  gov 
ernesses.    At  intervals  down  the  table  were  stacked  huge  piles 
of  bread  and  butter — of  extremely  thick  bread  and  surprisingly 
thin  butter— each  slice  being  divided  into  four  portions.    The 
rest  of  the  banquet  consisted  solely  of  tea.    Whether  this  regi- 
men  was  enough  to  support  growing  girls,  wh     had  risen  at 
seven,  till  dinner-time  at  half -past  one,  is  a  problem  which,  per 
haps,  the  inexperienced  intellect  of  man  can  scarcely  approach 
with  confidence.    But,  if  girls  do  not  always  learn  as  much  at  at 
school  as  could  be  desired,  intellectually  speaking,  it  is  certain  m 
that  they  have  every  chance  of  acquiring  Spartan  habits,  and  of  | 
becoming  accustomed  (if  familiarity  really  breeds  contempt)  to  F 
despise  hunger  and  cold.    Not  that  Miss  Marlett's  establishment  \ 
was  a  Dothegirls  Hall,  nor  a  school  much  more  scantily  equipped  I 
with  luxuries  than  others.    But  the  human  race  lias  still  to  learn 
that  girls  need  good  meals  just  as  much  as,  or  more  than,  per 
sons  of  maturer  years.    Boys  are  no  better  off  at  many  places; 
but  boys  have  opportunities  of  adding  bloaters  and  chops  to 
their  breakfasts,  which  would  be  considered  horribly  indelicate 
and  insubordinate  conduct  in  girls. 

"  Est  ce  que  vous  airnez  les  tartines  a  1'Anglaise,"  said  Janey 
Harman  to  Margaret. 

•'  Ce  que  j'aime  dans  la  tartine,  c'est  la  simplicity  pri&MHaaiUi* 
*re  da  sa  nature,"  answered  "Miy**  Shields, 


THB   MARK    OF   CAIN.  87 

It  WM  one  of  the  charms  of  the  "  matinal  meal "  (as  the  authoff 
of  "  Guy  Livingstone  "  calls  breakfast)  that  the  young  ladies  were 
all  compelled  to  talk  French  (and  such  French!)  during  this 
period  of  refreshment. 

"Toutes  choses,  la  cuisine  exceptee,  sont  Francaises,  dana 
cet  etablissement  peu  recreatif,"  went  on  Janey,  speaking  low 
and  fast. 

"  Je  deteste  le  Francais,"  Margaret  answered,  "  mais  jele  pre- 
fere  infmiment  a  1'Allemand." 

'*  Comment  accentuez,  vous  le  mot  prefere,  Marguerite  ?"  asked 
Hiss  Marlett,  who  had  heard  the  word,  and  who  neglected  na 
chance  of  conveying  instruction. 

"  Oh,  two  accents— one  this  way,  and  the  other  that,"  an 
swered  Margaret,  caught  unawares.  She  certainly  did  not  reply 
in  the  most  correct  terminology. 

"  Vous  allez  perdre  dix  marks,"  remarked  the  school-mistress, 
if  incorrectly,  perhaps  not  too  severely.  But  perhaps  it  is  not 
easy  to  say,  off-hand,  what  word  Miss  Marlett  ought  to  have  em 
ployed  for  "marks." 

"  Voici  les  lettres  qui  arrivent,"  whispered  Janey  to  Margaret, 
AS  the  post-bag  was  brought  in  and  deposited  before  Miss  Mar 
lett,  who  opened  it  with  a  key  and  withdrew  the  contents. 

This  was  a  trying  moment  for  the  young  ladies.  Miss  Marlett 
first  sorted  out  all  the  letters  for  the  girls,  which  came,  in 
dubitably  and  unmistakably,  from  fathers  and  mothers.  Then 
she  picked  out  the  other  letters,  ^hose  directed  to  young  ladies 
whom  she  thought  she  could  trust,  and  handed  them  over  in 
honorable  silence.  These  maidens  were  regarded  with  envy  by 
the  others.  Among  them  was  not  Miss  Harman,  whose  letters 
Miss  Marlett  always  deliberately  opened  and  read  before  deliver 
ing  them. 

'*.  II  y  a  une  lettre  pour  rnoi,  et  elle  va  la  lire,"  said  poor  Janey 
to  her  friend,  who,  for  her  part,  never  received  any  letters,  save 
a  few,  at  stated  intervals,  from  Maitland.  These  Miss  Shields 
used  to  carry  about  in  her  pocket  without  opening  them  till  they 
were  all  crumplv  at  the  edges.  Then  she  hastily  mastered  their 
contents,  and  made  answer  in  the  briefest  and  most  decorous 
manner. 

41  Qui  est  votre  correspondent  ?"  Margaret  asked,  We  are  not 
defending  her  French. 

"  C'est  le  pauvre  Harry  Wyville,"  answered  Janey.  **  II  est 
sous-lieutenant  dans  les  Berkshires  a  Aldershot.  Pourquoi  ne 
doit  il  pas  ecrire  a  moi,  il  est  comme  on  dircit,  mon  frere." 

" Est  il  votre  parent?" 

"  Non,  pas  du  tout,  mais  je  1'ai  connupour  des  ans.  Oh,  pour 
dee  ans!  Voici,  elle  a  deux  depeches  telagraphiciues,"  Janey 
added,  observing  two  orange  colored  envelopes  which  had  com» 
in  the  mail-bag  with  the  letters. 

At  this  moment  Miss  Marlett  finished  the  fraternal  epistle  of 
Lieutenant  Wy ville,  which  she  folded  up  with  a  frown  and  re 
turned  to  the  envelope. 

"  Jeanne  je  veux  vous  parler  a  part,  aproe,  dans  mon  boudoir,* 
remarked  Mia*  Marlett,  severely;  and  Miss  Harman,  becoming  ft 


m  TH®   MARK    OF   CAIN. 

little  blanched,  displayed  no  further  appetite  for  tartines,  nor  fot 
French  conversation. 

Indeed,  to  see  another,  and  a  much  older  lady,  read  let 
ters  written  to  one  by  a  lieutenant  at  Aldershot,  whom  one  has 
known  for  years,  and  who  is  just  like  one's  brother,  is  a  trial  to 
any  girl. 

Then  Miss  Marlett  betook  herself  to  her  own  correspondence, 
which,  as  Janey  had  noticed,  included  tivo  telegraphic  dispatches 
in  orange-colored  envelopes. 

That  she  had  not  rushed  at  these,  and  opened  them  first. 
proves  the  admirable  rigidity  of  her  discipline.  Any  other  wom 
an  would  have  done  so,  but  it  was  Miss  Marlett's  rule  to  dispose 
of  the  pupils'  correspondence  before  attending  to  her  own.  "  Busi 
ness  first,  pleasure  afterward,"  was  the  motto  of  this  admirable 
woman. 

Breakfast  ended,  as  the  girls  were  leading  the  room  for  the 
tasks  of  the  day,  Miss  Marlett  beckoned  Margaret  aside. 

"  Come  to  me,  dear,  in  the  boudoir,  after  Janey  Barman." 
eaid  the  schoolmistress  in  English,  and  in  a  tone  to  which  Mar 
garet  was  so  unaccustomed  that  she  felt  painfully  uneasy  and 
anxious — unwonted  moods  for  this  careless  maiden. 

*'  Janey,  something  must  have  happened,"  she  whispered  to 
her  friend,  who  was  hardening  her  own  heart  for  the  dreadful 
interview. 

"  Something's  going  to  happen,  I'm  sure,"  said  poor  Janey, 
apprehensively,  and  then  she  entered  the  august  presence, 
a/one. 

Margaret  remained  at  the  further  end  of  the  passage,  leading 
h>  what  Miss  Marlett,  when  she  spoke  French,  called  her 
**  boudoir."  The  girl  felt  colder  than  even  the  weather  war 
ranted.  She  looked  alternately  at  Miss  Marlett's  door  and  out  of 
the  window,  across  the  dead  blank  flats  to  the  low  white  hills 
far  away.  Just  under  the  window  one  of  the  little  girls  was 
standing,  throwing  crumbs,  remains  Ox  the  tartines,  to  robins 
and  sparrows,  which  chattered  and  fought  over  the  spoil.  One 
or  two  blackbirds,  with  their  yeilov,  bills,  flutt  red  shyly  on  the 
outside  of  the  ring  of  more  familiar  birds.  Up  from  the  south  a 
miserable  blue-gray  haze  was  drifting  and  shuddering,  ominous 
of  a  thaw.  From  the  eaves  and  the  branches  of  the  trees  heavy  | 
drops  kept  falling,  making  round  black  holes  in  the  snow,  and  | 
mixing  and  melting  here  and  there  in  a  yellowish  plash. 

Margaret  shivered.  Then  she  heard  the  boudoir  door  opea, 
and  Janey  came  out,  making  a  plucky  attempt  not  to  cry. 

"  What  is  it?'  whispered  Margaret,  rorgetting  the  dread  inter 
view  before  her,  and  her  own  unformed  misgivings. 

**  She  won't  give  me  the  letter.  I'm  to  have  it  when  I  go  home 
for  good;  and  I'm  to  go  home  for  good  at  the  holidays,"  whim 
pered  Janey. 

•'  Poor  Janey!"  said  Margaret,  petting  the  blonde  Ja.ead  on  her 
shoulder. 

"  Margaret  Shields,  come  here  I"  cried  Miss  Marlett,  ID  a  sb&ky 
voice,  from  the  boudoir. 

"  Come  to  the  back  music -room  when  she's  don*  with  you,* 


THE   MARK   OF   CAV*.  3f 

the  other  girl  whispered.    And  Margaret  marched,  with  a  beat* 
ing  heart,  into  Miss  Marlett's  chamber. 

"My  dear  Margaret,"  said  Miss  Marlett,  holding  out  her? 
hands.  She  was  standing  up  in  the  middle  of  the  boudoir.  She 
ought  to  have  been  sitting  grimly,  fortified  behind  her  bureau; 
that  was  the  position  in  which  she  generally  received  pupils  on 
these  gloomy  occasions. 

"  My  dear  Margaret!"  she  repeated.  The  girl  trembled  a  little 
as  the  schoolmistress  drew  her  closer,  and  made  her  sit  down 
on  a  sofa. 

(     "  What  has  happened  ?"  she  asked.    Her  lips  were  so  dry  that 
J  »he  could  scarcely  speak. 

"You  must  make  up  your  mind  to  be  very  brave.  Your 
father " 

"Was  it  an  accident  J'^said  Margaret,  suddenly.  She  knew 
pretty  well  what  was  coming.  Often  she  had  foreseen  the  end, 
which  it  needed  no  prophet  to  foretelL  **  Was  it  anything  very 
dreadful  ?" 

"  Mr.  Maitland  does  not  say.  You  are  to  be  called  for  to-day. 
Poor  Daisy  1" 

"  Oh,  Miss  Marlett,  I  am  so  very  unhappy!'*  the  girl  sobbed. 
Somehow  she  was  kneeling  now,  with  her  head  buried  in  the 
elder  lady's  lap.  "I  have  been  horrid  to  you.  I  am  so 
wretched  f"^ 

A  little  kindness  and  a  sudden  trouble  had  broken  down  Miss 
Margaret  Shields.  For  years  she  had  been  living,  like  Dr.  John 
son  at  college,  with  a  sad  and  hungry  heart,  trying  to  *'  carry  it 
off  by  her  wild  talk  and  her  wit."  "  It  was  bitterness  they  mis 
took  for  frolic."  She  had  known  herself  to  be  a  kind  of  outcast, 
and  she  determined  to  hold  her  own  with  the  other  girls  who 
had  homes  and  went  to  them  in  the  holidays.  Margaret  had 
not  gone  home  for  a  year.  She  had  learned  much,  working 
harder  than  they  knew;  she  had  been  in  the  "  best  set  "  among 
the  pupils,  by  dint  of  her  cheery  rebelliousness.  Now  she  sud 
denly  felt  all  her  loneliness,  and  knew,  too,  that  she  had  been 
living,  socially,  in  that  little  society  at  the  expense  of  this  kind, 
queer,  old  Miss  Marlett's  feelings. 

1     "  I  have  been  horrid  to  you,"  she  repeated.     "  I  wish  I  had 
j  never  been  born." 

The  schoolmistress  said  nothing  at  all,  but  kept  stroking  the 
:  girl's  beautiful  head.    Surreptitiously  Miss  Marlett  wiped  away 
&  frosty  tear. 

"  Don't  mind  me,"  at  last  Miss  Marlett  said*  "  I  never  thought 
hardly  of  you;  I  understood.  Now  you  must  go  and  get  ready 
for  your  journey;  you  can  have  any  of  the  girls  you  like  to  help 
you  to  pack." 

Miss  Marlett  carried  generosity  so  far  that  she  did  not  even  ask 
which  of  the  girls  was  to  be  chosen  for  this  service.  Perhaps 
she  guessed  that  it  was  the  other  culprit. 

Then  Margaret  rose  and  dried  her  eyes,  and  Miss  Marlett  took 
her  in  her  arms  and  kissed  her,  and  went  off  to  order  a  traveling 
luncheon  and  to  select  the  warmest  railway  rug  she  could  find; 
for  the  teacher,  though  she  was  not  a  very  learned  nor  judicious 


90  Tffff   MARK    OF  CAIN. } 

schoolmistress,  had  a  heart  and  affections  of  her  own.  She  had 
once,  it  is  true,  taken  the  word  legibus  (dative  plural  of  lex,  a 
law)  for  an  adjective  of  the  third  declension,  legibus,  legiba^ 
tegiburn;  and  Margaret  had  criticised  this  grammatical  subtlety 
with  an  unsparing  philological  acumen,  as  If  she  had  been  Pro 
fessor  Moritz  Haupt  and  Miss  Marlett,  Orelli.  And  this  had  led 
to  the  end  of  Latin  lessons  at  the  Dovecot,  wherefore  Margaret 
was  honored  as  a  goddess  by  girls  averse  to  study  the  classic 
languages.  But  now  Miss  Marlett  forgot  these  things,  and  al1 
the  other  skirmishes  of  the  past. 

Margaret  went  wearily  to  her  room,  where  she  bathed 
face  with  cold  water;  it  could  not  be  too  cold  for  her.  A  cei 
tain  numb  forgetfulness  seemed  to  steep  her  mind  while  she 
thus  deadening  her  eyes  again  and  again.  She  felt  as  if  she 
never  wished  to  raise  her  eyes  from  this  chilling  consolation. 
Then,  when  she  thought  she  had  got  rid  of  all  the  traces  of  her 
trouble,  she  went  cautiously  to  the  back  music-room.  Janey 
was  there,  moping  alone,  drumming  on  the  window-pane  with 
her  fingers. 

"  Come  to  my  room,  Janey,"  she  said,  beckoning. 

Now,  to  consort  together  in  their  bedrooms  during  school- 
hours  was  forbidden  to  the  girls. 

•'  Why,  we'll  only  get  into  another  scrape,"  said  Janey,  rue* 
fully. 

•'  No,  come  away;  I've  got  leave  for  you.  You're  to  help  me 
to  pack." 

"To  pack!"  cried  Janey,  "Why,  you're  not  expelled,  are 
you?  You've  done  nothing.  You've  not  even  had  a  perfectly 
harmless  letter  from  a  boy  who  is  just  like  a  brother  to  you  and 
whom  you've  knowc  for  years.'' 

Margaret  only  beckoned  again  and  turned  away,  Janey  fol« 
lowing  in  silence  and  intense  curiosity. 

When  they  reached  their  room,  where  Margaret's  portmanteau 
had  already  been  placed,  the  girl  began  to  put  up  such  things  as 
uhe  would  need  for  a  short  journey.  She  said  nothing  till  she 
had  finished,  and  then  she  sat  down  on  a  bed  and  told  Janey 
what  she  had  learned;  and  the  pair  "  had  a  good  cry,"  and  com 
forted  each  other  as  well  as  they  might. 

"  And  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?"  asked  Janey,  when,  a» 
Homer  says,  "  they  had  taken  their  fill  of  chilling  lamentations. " 

"I  don't  know !:' 

"  Have  you  no  one  else  in  all  the  world?" 

"  No  one  at  all.  My  mother  died  when  I  was  a  little  child,  in 
Smyrna.  Since  then  we  have  wandered  all  about;  we  were* 
long  time  in  Algiers,  and  we  were  at  Marseilles,  and  then  ia 
London." 

"  But  you  have  a  guardian,  haven't  you  ?" 

"  Yes;  he  sent  me  here.  And,  of  course,  he's  been  very  kind, 
and  done  everything  for  me;  but  he's  quite  a  young  man,  not 
thirty.,  and  he's  so  stupid,  and  so  stiff,  and  thinks  so  much  about 
Oxford,  and  talks  so  like  a  book.  And  he's  so  shy,  and  alwawi 
seems  to  do  everything,  not  because  he  likes  it,  but  because  ft* 
thinks  he  ought  to.  And,  beside* " 


THE   MARK    OF   CAIN.  ft 

But  Margaret  did  not  go  further  in  her  confessions,  nor  «• 
£?ain  more  lucidly  why  she  had  ecaat  affection  for  Maitland  of 
St.  Gatien's. 

"  And  had  your  poor  father  no  other  friends  who  could  take 
car,e  of  you  ?"  Janey  asked. 

"There  was  a  gentleman  who  called  now  and  then;  I  saw 
him  twice.  He  had  been  an  officer  in  father's  ship,  I  think,  or 
had  known  him  long  ago  at  sea.  He  found  us  out  somehow  in 
Chelsea.  There  was  no  one  else  at  all." 

"  And  you  don't  know  any  of  your  father's  family?'* 

"No,"  said  Margaret,  wearily.  "Oh,  I  have  forgotten  to 
pack  up  my  prayer-book."  And  she  took  up  a  little  worn  vol 
ume  in  black  morocco  with  silver  clasps.  "This  was  a  book 
my  father  gave  me,"  she  said.  "It  has  a  name  on  it — my 
grandfather's,  I  suppose—'  Richard  Johnson,  Linkheaton,  1837.' " 
Then  she  put  the  book  in  a  pocket  of  her  traveling  cloak. 

"  Your  mother's  father  it  may  have  belonged  to,"  said  Janey. 

"  I  don't  know,"  Margaret  replied,  looking  out  of  the  window. 

"  I  hope  you  won't  stay  away  long,  dear,"  said  Janey,  affec 
tionately. 

"  But  you  are  going,  too,  you  know,"  Margaret  answered, 
without  much  tact;  and  Janey,  reminded  of  her  private  griefs, 
was  about  to  break  down,  when  the  wheels  of  a  carriage  were 
heard  laboring  slowly  up  the  snow- laden  drive. 

"  Why,  here's  some  one  coming!"  cried  Jaiiey,  rushing  to  the 
window.  "  Two  horses!  and  a  gentleman  all  in  fura.  Oh,  Mar 
garet,  this  must  be  for  you!" 

CHAPTER  V. 

FLOWN. 

MAITLAND'S  reflections  as,  in  performance  of  the  promise  he 
had  telegraphed,  he  made  his  way  to  the  Dovecot,  were  deep  and 
distracted.  The  newspapers  with  which  he  had  littered  the  rail 
way  carriage  were  left  unread;  he  had  occupation  enough  in  his 
own  thoughts.  Men  are  so  made  that  they  seldom  hear  even  of 
a  deatli  without  immediately  considering  its  effects  on  their 
private  interests.  Now,  the  death  of  Richard  Shields  affected 
Maitland's  purposes  both  favorably  and  unfavorably.  He  had 
for  some  time  repented  of  the  tacit  engagement  (tacit  as  far  as 
the  girl  was  concerned)  which  bound  him  to  Margaret. 

For  some  time  he  had  been  dimly  aware  of  quite  novel  emo 
tions  in  his  own  heart,  and  of  a  new,  rather  painful,  rather 
pleasant,  kind  of  interest  in  another  lady.  Maitland,  in  fact, 
was  becoming  more  human  than  he  gave  himself  credit  for,  and 
a  sign  of  "his  awakening  nature  was  the  blush  with  which  he  had 
greeted,  some  weeks  before,  Barton's  casual  criticism  on  Mrs.  St. 
John  Deloraine. 

Without  any  well-defined  ideas  or  hopes,  Maitland  had  felt 
that  his  philanthropic  entanglement — it  was  rather,  he 'said  to 
himself,  an  entanglement  than  an  engagement — had  become 
irksome  to  his  fancy.  Now  that  the  unfortunate  parent  was  oat 
of  the  way,  he  felt  that  tha  daughter  would  not  be  more  sorr? 


82  THE  MASK    OF   CAW. 

than  himself  to  revise  the  relations  in  which  they  stood  to  eacfc 
other.  Vanity  might  have  prevented  some  men  from  seeing 
this;  but  Maitland  had  not  vitality  enough  for  a  healthy  conceit 
A  curious  "  aloofness  "  of  nature  permitted  him  to  stand  aside, 
i;nd  see  himself  much  as  a  young  lady  was  likely  to  see  him, 
*£his  disposition  is  rare,  and  not  a  source  of  happiness. 

On  the  other  hand,  his  future  relations  to  Margaret  formed  a 
wizzle  inextricable.  He  could  not  at  all  imagine  how  he  was  tc 
iispoae  of  so  embarrassing  a  protegee.  Margaret  was  becoming 
voo  much  of  a  woman  to  be  left  much  longer  at  school;  an< 
where  was  she  to  be  disposed  of  ? 

«SI  might  send  her  to  Girton,"  he  thought,  and  then,  charao 
tefisticafiy,  he  began  to  weigh  in  m's  mind  the  comparative  edu> 
cational  merits  cf  Girton  and  Somerville  Hall.  About  on< 
thing  only  was  he  certain:  he  must  consult  his  college  mentor 
Bielby  of  St.  Gatien's,  as  soon  as  might  be.  Too  long  had  thii 
Hasselas— occupied,  like  the  famous  Prince  of  Abyssinia,  witi 
Sie  choice  of  life— neglected  to  resort  to  his  academic  Imlac 
In  the  meantime  he  could  only  reflect  that  Margaret  must,  re 
main  as  a  pupil  at  Miss  Mariettas.  The  moment  would  soon  to 
arriving  when  some  other  home,  and  a  chaperon  instead  of  i 
schoolmistress,  must  be  found  for  this  peculiar  object  of  phi 
lanthropy  and  outdoor  relief. 

Maitland  was  sorry  he  had  not  left  town  by  the  nine-o  clocl 
train.  The  early  dusk  began  tc  gather,  gray  and  damp;  th« 
train  was  late,  having  made  tardy  progress  through  the  half 
melted  snow.  He  had  set  out  from  Paddington  by  the  half -pas 
ten  express,  and  a  glance  at  the  harsh  and  crabbed  page  of  Brad 
shaw  will  prove  to  the  most  skeptical  that  Maitland  could  no 
reach  Tiverton  much  before  six.  Half  frozen,  and  in  anythin; 
but  a  happy  temper,  he  engaged  a  fly  and  drove  off,  along  heav 
miserable  roads,  to  the  Dovecot. 

Arriving  at  the  closed  and  barred  gates  of  that  vestal  estal 
lishment,  Maitland's  cabman  "  pulled,  and  pusbed,  and  kickec 
and  knocked"  for  a  considerable  time,  without  manifest  effec 
Clearly  the  retainers  of  Miss  Marlett  had  secured  tha  position  fc 
the  night,  and  expected  no  visitors,  though  Maitland  knew  ths 
he  oughfr  to  be  expected.  "  The  bandogs  bayed  and  howled,"  ? 
they  did  round  the  secret  bower  of  the  Lady  of  Branksome;  an 
lights  flitted  about  the  windows.  When  a  lantern  at  last  can: 
flickering  up  to  the  gate,  the  bearer  of  it  stopped  to  challenges 
apparently  unlooked-for  and  unwelcome  stranger. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  What  do  you  want  2"  said  a  female  voice,  i 
a  strong  Devonian  accent. 

44 1  want  Miss  Marlett,"  answered  Maitland. 

There  was  some  hesitation.  Then  the  porter  appeared  to  r 
fleet  that  a  burglar  would  not  arrive  in  a  cab,  and  that  a  surre 
titious  lover  would  not  ask  for  the  schoolmistress. 

The  portals  were  at  length  unbarred  and  lugged  apart  ov 
the  gravel,  and  Maitland  followed  the  cook  (for  she  was  no  01 
less)  and  the  candle  up  to  the  front  door.    He  gave  his  card,  ai 
H-as   ushered  into  the  chamber  reserved  for  interviews  wi  I 
parents  and  guardians.    The  drawing-room  had  the  air  and  fai  j 


THIS   MARK    OF   CAIN1.  &3 

smell  of  a  room  very  seldom  occupied.  All  the  chairs  were  so 
elegantly  and  cunningly  constructed  that  they  tilted  up  at  in 
tervals,  and  threw  out  the  unwary  male  who  trusted  himself  to 
their  hospitality.  Their  backs  were  decorated  with  antimacas 
sars  wrought  with  glass  beads,  and  these,  in  the  light  of  one 
dip,  shone  fitfully  with  a  frosty  luster.  On  the  round  table  in 
the  middle  were  volumes  of  "  The  Mothers  of  England,"  «*  The 
Grandrapthers  of  the  Bible,"  Blair  "On  the  Grave,"  and  "  The 
£pic  of  Hades,"  the  latter  copiously  and  appropriately  illus 
trated,  In  addition  to  these  cheerful  volumes  there  were  large 
tomes  of  lake  and  river  scenery,  with  gilt  edges  and  faded  ma 
genta  bindings,  shrouded  from  the  garish  light  of  day  in  drab 
paper  covers. 

The  walls,  of  a  very  faint  lilac  tint,  were  hung  with  prize 
sketches,  in  water-colors  or  in  pencil,  by  young  ladies  who  had 
left.  In  the  former  works  of  art,  distant  nature  was  represented 
as,  on  the  whole,  of  a  mauve  hue,  while  the  foreground  was 
mainly  composed  of  burnt-umber  rocks,  touched  up  with  orange. 
The  shadows  in  the  pencil  drawings  had  an  agreeably  brilliant 
polish,  like  that  which,  when  conferred  on  fenders  by  Somebody's 
Patent  Dozne-Blacklead,  "increases  the  attractions  of  the  fire 
side,"  according  to  the  advertisements.  Maitland  knew  ail  the 
blacklead  caves,  broad-hatted  brigands,  and  pea-green  trees. 
They  were  old  acquaintances,  and  as  lie  fidgeted  about  the  room 
lie  became  very  impatient. 

At  last  the  door  opened,  and  Miss  Marlett  appeared,  rustling  in 
Bilks,  very  stiff,  and  with  an  air  of  extreme  astonishment. 

*'  Mr,  Maitland?"  she  said,  in  an  interrogative  tone. 

"'  Didn't  you  expect  me  ?  Didn't  you  get-  my  telegram  ?"  asked 
Maitland. 

It  occurred  to  him  that  the  storm  might  have  injured  the 
wires,  that  his  message  might  never  have  arrived,  and  that  ha 
might  be  obliged  to  explain  everything,  and  break  his  bad  news 
in.  person. 

"  Yes,  certainly.  I  got  both  your  telegrams.  But  why  have 
you  come  here  ?" 

"  Why,  to  see  Margaret  Shields,  of  course,  and  consult  you 
about  her.  But  what  do  you  mean  by  both  my  telegrams?' 

Miss  Marlett  turned  very  pale,  and  sat  down  with  unexpected 
Btiddeness. 

"Oh,  what  will  become  of  the  poor  girl?"  she  cried,  "and 
tfhat  will  become  of  me  ?  It  will  get  talked  about.  The  parents 
will  hear  of  it,  and  I  am  rained." 

The  unfortunate  lady  passed  her  handkerchief  over  her  eyes, 
to  the  extreme  discomfiture  of  Maitland.  He  could  not  bear  to 
jee  a  woman  cry;  and  that  Miss  Marlett  should  cry — Miss  Mar 
lett,  the  least  melting,  as  he  had  fancied,  of  her  sex — was  a  cir 
cumstance  which  entirely  puzzled  and  greatly  disconcerted 
kirn. 

Ha  remained  silent,  looking  at  a  flow^-r  in  the  pattern  of  the 
jarpet,  for  at  least  a  minute. 

"  I  came  here  to  consult  you,  Miss  Marlett,  about  what  is  to 
tecome  of  the  poor  girl;  but,  I  do  not  see  how  the  parents  of  tla# 


•ft  THE   MASK    OF   CAIN. 

other  young  ladies  are  concerned.  Death  is  common  to  all;  and 
Margaret's  father,  though  his  life  was  exposed  to  criticism,  can 
not  be  fairly  censured  because  he  has  left  it.  And  what  do  you 
mean,  please,  by  receiving  both  my  telegrams?  I  only  sent  one* 
to  the  effect  that  I  would  leave  town  by  the  10.30  train,  and 
come  straight  to  you.  There  must  be  some  mistake  somewhere. 
Oan  I  see  Miss  Shields?" 

" See  Miss  Shields!  Why,  she's  gone!  She  left  this  morning 
with  your  friend,"  said  Miss  Marlett,  raising  a  face  at  once 
mournful  and  alarmed,  and  looking  straight  at  her  visitor. 

**  She's  gone  I  She  left  this  morning  with  my  friend!"  repeated 
Maitland,  He  felt  like  a  man  in  a  dream. 

"  You  said  in  your  first  telegram  that  you  would  come  for  her 
yourself,  and  in  your  second  that  you  were  detained,  and  that 
Tour  friend  and  her  father's  friend,  Mr.  Lithgow,  would  call  for 
her  by  the  early  train;  so  she  went  with  him." 

"  My  friend,  Mr.  Lithgow!  I  have  no  friend,  Mr.  Lithgow," 
cried  Maitland;  "  and  I  sent  no  second  telegram." 

"  Then  who  did  send  it,  sir,  if  you  please?  For  I  will  show 
you  both  telegrams,"  cried  Miss  Marlett,  now  on  her  defense; 
and  rising,  she  left  the  room. 

While  Miss  Marlett  was  absent,  in  search  of  the  telegrams. 
Maitland  had  time  to  reflect  on  the  unaccountable  change  in  the 
situation.  What  had  become  of  Margaret  ?  Who  had  any  con 
ceivable  interest  in  removing  her  from  school  at  the  very  mo 
ment  of  her  father's  accidental  death  ?  And  by  what  possible 
circumstances  of  accident  or  fraud  could  two  messages  from 
himself  have  arrived,  when  he  was  certain  that  he  had  only  sent 
one  ?  The  records  of  somnambulism  contain  no  story  of  a  per 
son  who  dispatched  telegrams  while  walking  in  his  sleep.  Then 
the  notion  occurred  to  Maitland  that  his  original  dispatch,  as  he 
wrote  it,  might  have  been  mislaid  in  the  office,  and  that  the 
imaginative  clerk  who  lost  it  might  have  filled  it  up  from  mem 
ory,  and,  like  the  examinees  in  the  poem,  might 
14  Have  wrote  it  all  by  rote, 
And  never  wrote  it  right." 

But  the  fluttering  approach  of  such  an  hypothesis  was  dispersed 
by  the  recollection  that  Margaret  had  actually  departed,  and  - 
(what  was  worse)  had  gone  off  with  **  his  friend,  Mr.  Lithgow." 
Uieariy,  no  amount  of  accident  or  mistake  would  account  for  1 
the  appearance  of  Mr.  Lithgow,  and  the  disappearance  of  Mar-  | 
garet. 

It  was  characteristic  of  Maitland  that  within  himself  he  did 
not  greatly  blame  the  schoolmistress.  He  had  so  little  human 
nature— as  he  admitted,  on  the  evidence  of  his  old  college  tutor 
— that  he  was  never  able  to  see  things  absolutely  and  entirely 
from  tlie  point  of  view  of  his  own  interests.  His  own  personal 
ity  was  not  elevated  enough  to  command  the  whole  field  of 
human  conduct.  He  was  always  making  allowances  for  people, 
and  never  felt  able  to  believe  himself  absolutely  hi  the  right,  and 
every  one  else  absolutely  in  the  wrong.  Had  he  owned  a  more 
full-blooded  life,  he  would  probably  have  lost  his  temper,  and 
"  spoken  his  mind/'  as  the  saying  is,  to  poor  Miss  Marlett.  Sha 


THE   MARK    OF    CAIN.  8$ 

certainly  should  never  have  let  Margaret  go  with  a  stranger,  on 
the  authority  even  of  a  telegram  from  the  girl's  guardian, 

It  struck  Maitland,  finally,  that  Miss  Marlett  was  very  slow 
about  finding  the  dispatches.  She  had  been  absent  quite  a 
quarter  of  an  hour.  At  last  she  returned,  pale  and  trembling, 
.with  a  telegraphic  deopatch  in  her  hand,  but  not  alone.  She 
was  accompanied  by  a  blonde  and  agitated  young  lady,  in  whom 
Maitland,  having  seen  her  before,  might  have  recognized  Miss 
Janey  Herman.  But  he  had  no  memory  for  faces,  and  merely 
bowed  vaguely. 

"  This  is  Miss  Harm  an,  whom  I  think  you  have  seen  on  other 
occasions,"  said  Miss  Marlett,  faying  to  be  calm. 

Maitland  bowed  again,  and  wondered  more  than  ever.  It  did 
occur  to  him  that  the  fewer  people  knew  of  so  delicate  a  busi- 
Jiess  the  better  for  Margaret's  sake. 

"  I  have  brought  Miss  Harraan  here,  Mr.  Maitland,  partly  be- 
Tause  she  is  Miss  Shields'  greatest  friend  "  (here  Janey  sobbed), 
*'  but  chiefly  because  she  can  prove,  to  a  certain  extent,  the 
•fvuth  of  what  I  have  told  you." 

41 1  never  for  a  moment  doubted  it,  Miss  Marlett;  but  will  you 
kindly  let  me  compare  the  two  telegrams  ?  This  ia  a  most  ex-^ 
fraordinary  affair,  and  we  ought  to  lose  no  time  in  investigating 
it,  and  discovering  its  meaning.  You  and  I  are  responsible,  you 
/<now,  to  ourselves,  if  unfortunately  to  no  one  else,  for  Mar 
garet's  safety." 

"But  I  haven't  got  the  two  telegrams!"  exclaimed  poor  Miss 
Karlett,  who  could  not  live  up  to  the  stately  tone  of  Maitland. 
**  I  haven't  got  them,  or  rather,  I  only  have  one  of  them,  and  I 
fc-ave  hunted  everywhere,  high  and  low,  for  the  other." 

Then  she  offered  Maitland  a  single  dispatch,  and  the  flimsy 
T^ink  paper  fluttered  in  her  shaking  hand. 

Maitland  took  it  up  and  read  aloud: 

"  Sent  out  at  7.45.    Received  7.51. 
"FROM  ROBEHT  MAITLAND  TO  Miss  MARLETT, 
"  The  Dovecot,  Conisbeare, 

"  Tiverton. 

"  I  come  to-morrow,  leaving  by  10.30  train.  Do  not  let  Mar 
garet  see  the  newspaper.  Her  father  dead.  Break  news." 

"  Why,  that  is  my  own  telegram!"  cried  Maitland;  "  but  what 
have  you  done  with  the  other  you  said  you  received  ?" 

' '  That  is  the  very  one  I  cannot  find,  though  I  had  both  on  the 
escritoire  in  my  own  room  this  morning.  I  cannot  believe  any  cne 
would  touch  it.  I  did  not  lock  them  away,  not  expecting  to 
have  any  use  for  them;  but  I  am  quite  sure,  the  last  time  I  saw 
them,  they  were  lying  there." 

"  This  is  very  extraordinary,"  said  Maitland.  "  You  tell  me, 
Miss  Marlett,  that  you  received  two  telegrams  from  me.  On  th» 
strength  of  the  later  of  the  two  you  let  your  pupil  go  away  with 
a  person  of  whom  you  know  nothing,  and  then  you  have  not 
even  the  telegram  to  show  me.  How  long  an  interval  was  thero 
between  the  receipt  of  the  two  dispatches  ?" 

•^TcyMfc  them  both  at  onc^"  said  poor,  tso£abU&g  Mfoa  MiiTto1i<V 


W  THE   MARK    CF    CAIN. 

vr  ho  felt  the  weakness  of  her  case,  "They  were  both  sent  up 
•sidth  the  letters  this  morning.  Were  they  not  Miss  Harman  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Janey;  "  I  certainly  saw  two  telegraphic  enve 
lopes  lying  among  your  letters  at  breakfast.  I  mentioned  it  to— 
to  poor  Margaret,"  she  added,  w?.th  a  break  in  her  voice. 

"  But  why  were  the  telegrams  net  delivered  last  night?* 
Maitland  asked. 

"  I  have  left  orders,"  Miss  Marlett  answered,  "that  only  tele 
grams  of  instant  importance  are  to  be  sent  on  at  once.  It  costs 
twelve  shillings,  and  parents  and  people  are  so  tiresome,  always 
telegraphing  about  nothing  in  particular,  and  costing  a  fortune. 
These  telegrams  were  very  important,  of  course;  but  nothing 
more  could  have  been  done  about  them  if  they  had  arrived  last 
night,  than  if  they  came  this  morning.  I  have  had  a  great  deal 
of  annoyance  and  expense/' the  schoolmistress  added,  "with 
telegrams  that  had  to  be  paid  for." 

And  here  most  people  who  live  at  a  distance  from  telegraph 
offices,  and  are  afflicted  with  careless  friends  whose  touch  on  the 
wire  is  easy  and  light,  will  perhaps  sympathize  with  Miss  Mar 
lett. 

"  You  might  at  least  have  telegraphed  back  to  ask  me  to  con 
firm  the  instructions,  when  you  read  the  second  dispatch,"  said 
Maitland. 

He  was  beginning  to  take  an  argumentative  interest  in  the 
strength  of  his  own  case.  It  was  certainly  very  strong,  and  the 
excuse  for  the  schoolmistress  was  weak  in  proportion. 

"  But  that  would  have  been  of  no  use,  as  it  happens,"  Janey 
put  in— an  unexpected  and  welcome  ally  to  Miss  Marlett — '*  be 
cause  you  must  have  left  Paddington  long  before  the  question 
could  have  reached  you." 

This  was  unanswerable,  as  a  matter  of  fact;  and  Miss  Marlett 
could  not  repress  a  grateful  glance  in  the  direction  of  her  way 
ward  pupil. 

"Well,"  said  Maitland,  "it  is  all  very  provoking,  and  very 
serious.  Can  you  remember  at  all  how  the  second  message  ran, 
Miss  Marlett  ?" 

"Indeed,  I  know  it  off  by  heart;  it  was  directed  exactly  liko 
that  in  your  hand,  and  was  dated  half  an  hour  later.  It  ran: 
'  Plans  altered.  Margaret  required  in  town.  My  friend  and  her 
father's*,  Mr.  Lithgow,  will  call  for  her  soon  after  mid-day.'  I 
noticed  there  were  just  twenty  words." 

"And  did  you  also  notice  the  office  from  which  the  message 
was  sent  out  r" 

"  No,"  said  Miss  Marlett,  shaking  her  head  with  an  effort  at 
recollection.  "  I  am  afraid  I  did  not  notice/' 

"  That  is  very  unfortunate,"  said  Maitland,  walking  vaguely 
up  and  down  the  room.  "Do  you  think  the  telegram  is  abso 
lutely  lost?" 

••  I  have  locked  everywhere,  and  asked  all  the  maids." 

"  When  did  you  see  it  last,  for  certain?" 

"  I  laid  both  dispatches  on  the  desk  in  my  room  when  I  went 
cut  to  make  sure  that  Margajret  JU&d  everything  comforte&le  be- 


THE   MARK    OF    CAIN.  '  87 

**  And  where  was  this  Mr.  Lithgow  then  ?" 

"  He  was  sitting  over  the  tire  in  my  room,  trying  to  warra 
tamself;  he  seemed  very  cold." 

"  Clearly,  then,  Mr.  Lithgow  is  now  in  possession  of  the  tele 
gram,  which  he  probably,  or  rather  certainly,  sent  himself.  Bii£ 
how  he  came  to  know  anything  about  the  girl,  or  what  possible  » 

motive  he  can  have  had "  muttered  Maitland  to  himself. 

"  She  has  never  been  in  any  place,  Miss  Marlett,  since  she  came 
to  you,  where  she  could  have  made  the  man's  acquaintance?" 

"It  is  impossible  to  say  whom  girls  may  meet,  and  how  they 
may  manage  it,  Mr.  Maitland/'  said  Miss  Marlett,  sadly;  when 
J;-iney  broke  in: 

"  I  am  sure  Margaret  never  met  him  here.  She  was  notagiri 
to  have  such  a  secret,  and  she  could  not  have  acted  a  part  so  as 
to  have  taken  me  in.  I  saw  him  first,  out  of  the  window.  Mar 
garet  was  very  unhappy;  she  had  been  crying.  I  said,  *  Here's 
a  gentleman  in  furs,  Margaret;  he  must  have  come  for  you.' 
Then  she  looked  out  and  said,  '  It  is  not  my  guardian;  it  is  the 
gentleman  whom  I  saw  twice  with  my  father.'  " 

"  What  kind  of  a  man  was  he  to  look  at  ?" 

"  He  was  tall,  and  dark,  and  rather  good-looking,  with  a  slight 
black  mustache.  He  had  a  fur  collar  that  went  up  to  his  eyes 
almost,  and  he  was  not  a  young  man.  He  was  a  gentleman," 
said  Janey,  who  flattered  'herself  that  she  recognized  such  per 
sons  as  bear  without  reproach  that  grand  old  name— when  she 
saw  them. 

':  Would  you  know  him  again  if  you  met  him?" 

"Anywhere,"  said  Janey;  "  and  I  would  know  his  voice." 

"  He  wore  mourning,"  said  Miss  Martlett,  "  and  he  told  me  he 
had  known  Margaret's  father.  I  heard  him  say  a  few  words  to 
her,  in  a  very  kind  way,  about  him.  That  seemed  more  com 
fort  to  Margaret  than  anything.  '  He  did  not  suffer  at  all,  my 
dear,'  he  said.  He  spoke  to  her  in  that  way.  as  an  older  man 
might." 

.  "  Why,  how  on  earth  could  he  know?"  cried  Maitland.  "  No 
one  was  present  when  her  poor  father  died.  His  body  was  found 

in  a ,"  and  Maitland  paused  rather  awkwardly.     There  was, 

perhaps,  no  necessity  for  adding  to  the  public  information  about 
the  circumstances  of  Mr.  Shields'  decease.  "  He  was  overcome 
by  the  cold  and  snow,  I  mean,  on  the  night  of  the  great  storm." 

"I  have  always  heard  that  the  death  of  people  made  drowsy 
by  snow  and  fatigue  is  as  painless  as  sleep,"  said  Miss  Marlett 
with  some  tact. 

"  I  suppose  that  is  what  the  man  must  have  meant,"  Maitlaud 
answered. 

There  was  nothing  more  to  be  said  on  either  side,  and  yet  he 
lingered,  trying  to  think  over  any  circumstance  which  might 
lend  a  clew  in  the  search  for  Margaret  and  of  the  mysterious 
Mr.  Lithgow. 

At  last  he  said  "  Good-night,"  after  making  the  superfluous 
remark  that  it  would  be  as  well  to  let  every  one  suppose  that 
nothing  unusual  or  unexpected  had  happened.  In  this  view 
Miss  Marlett  entirely  concurred,,  for  excellent  reasons  of  hef 


J8  THE   MARK    OF   CAIN, 

own,  and  now  she  began  to  regret  that  she  had  taken  Miss  Har- 
man  into  her  counsels.  But  there  was  no  help  for  it;  and  when. 
Maitland  rejoined  his  cabman  (who  had  been  refreshed  by  tea), 
a  kind  of  informal  treaty  of  peace  was  concluded  between  Janey 
and  the  schoolmistress.  After  all,  it  appeared  to  Miss  Marlett 
(and  correctly)  that  the  epistle  from  the  young  officer  whom 
Janey  regarded  as  a  brother  was  a  natural  and  harmless  com* 
munication.  It  chiefly  contained  accounts  of  contemporary 
regimental  sports  and  pastimes,  in  which  the  writer  had  distin 
guished  himself,  and  if  it  did  end  "  Yours  affectionately,"  there 
was  nothing  very  terrible  or  inflammatory  in  that,  all  things 
considered.  So  the  fair  owner  of  the  letter  received  it  into  he? 
own  keeping,  only  she  was  "never  to  do  it  again." 

Miss  Marlett  did  not  ask  Janey  to  say  nothing  about  Mar 
garet's  inexplicable  adventure.  She  believed  that  the  girl  would 
have  sufficient  sense  and  good  feeling  to  hold  her  peace;  and  if 
she  did  not  do  so  of  her  own  accord,  no  vows  would  be  likely  to 
bind  her.  In  this  favorable  estimate  of  her  pupil's  discretion 
Miss  Marlett  was  not  mistaken.  Janey  did  not  even  give  herself 
airs  of  mystery  among  the  girls,  which  was  an  act  of  creditable 
self-denial.  The  rest  of  the  school  never  doubted  that,  on  the 
death  of  Miss  Shields1  father,  she  had  been  removed  by  one  of 
her  friends.  As  for  Maitland,  he  was  compelled  to  pass  the  night 
at  Tiverton,  revolving  many  memories.  He  had  now  the  gravest 
reason  for  anxiety  about  the  girl,  of  whom  he  was  the  only 
friend  and  protector,  and  who  was,  undeniably,  the  victim  of 
some  plot  or  conspiracy.  Nothing  more  practical  than  seeking 
the  advice  of  Bielbyof  St.  Gatien's  occurred  to  his  perplexed 
imagination. 

CHAPTER  VI. 
AT  ST.  GATIEN'S. 

THE  following  day  was  spent  by  Maitland  in  travel,  and  in 
pushing  such  inquiries  as  suggested  themselves  to  a  mind  not 
fertile  in  expedients.  He  was  not  wholly  unacquainted  with 
novels  of  adventure,  and  he  based  his  conduct,  as  much  as  pos 
sible,  on  what  he  could  remember  in  these  *'  authorities.*'  For 
example,  he  first  went  in  search  of  the  man  who  had  driven  the 
cab  which  brought  the  mysterious  Mr.  Lithgow  to  flutter  the 
Dovecot.  So  far,  there  was  no  difficulty.  One  of  the  cab-drivers 
who  plied  at  the  station  perfectly  remembered  the  gentleman  in 
furs  whom  he  had  driven  to  the  school.  After  waiting  at  the 
school  till  the  young  lady  was  ready,  he  had  conveyed  them 
back  again  to  the  station,  and  they  took  the  up-train,  That  was 
all  he  knew.  The  gentleman,  if  his  opinion  were  asked,  was  "  a 
ecaly  varmint."  On  inquiry,  Maitland  found  that  this  wide 
moral  generalization  was  based  on  the  limited  pour-boire  which 
Mr.  Lithgow  had  presented  to  his  charioteer,  Had  the  gentle 
man  any  luggage  ?  Yes,  he  had  a  portmanteau,  which  he  left  in 
the  cloak-room,  and  took  away  with  him  on  his  return  to  town 
—not  in  the  van,  in  the  railway  carriage.  "What  could  be 
want  with  all  that  luggage  ?"  Maitland  wondered. 


TEE   NARK    OF   CAIN.  9§ 

"The  next  thing  was,  of  course,  to  find  the  guard  of  tea  tram 
"Which  conveyed  Margaret  and  her  mysterious  friend  toTaunton.. 
This  official  had  seerf  the  gentleman  and  tho  young  lady  get  out 
8,t  Tauston,  They  went  on  to  London. 

The  unfortunate  guardian  of  Margaret  Shields  was  ??o\v 
obliged  to  start  for  Taanton,  and  thence  pursue  his  way,  and 
his  inquiries,  as  far  as  Padclington.  The  position  was  extremely 
irksome  to  Maitiand.  Although,  in  novels,  gentlemen  often  as 
sume  the  role  of  the  detective  with  apparent  relish,  Maitland 
was  not  cant  by  Nature  for  the  part.  *  He  was  too  scrupulous 
and  too  fchy.  He  detested  asking  guards,  and  porters,  and  sta 
tion-masters*  and  people  in  refreshment-rooms  if  they  remem 
bered  having  seen,  yesterday,  a  gentleman  in  a  fur  coat  travel 
ing  with  a  young  lady,  of  whom  ha  felt  that  he  had  to  offer 
only  a  too  suggestive  description.  The  philanthropist  could  not 
but  see  that  every  one  properly  constructed,  in  imagination,  a 
satisfactory  little  myth  to  account  for  ail  the  circumstances— a 
myth  in  which  Maitiand  played  the  unpopular  part  of  the 
Avenging  Brother  or  Injured  Husband. 

What  other  path,  indeed,  was  open  to  conjecture  ?  A  gentle 
man  in  a  fur  coat,  and  a  young  lady  of  prepossessing  appear 
ance,  are  traveling  alone  together,  one  day,  in  a  carriage  marked 
*'  Engaged,"  Next  day,  another  gentleman  (not  prepossessing, 
and  very  nervous)  appears  on  the  same  route,  asking  anxious 
questions  about  the  wayfarer  in  the  notable  coat  (bearskin,  it 
neeined  to  have  been)  and  about  the  interesting  young  lady. 
Clearly,  the  pair  were  the  fond  fugitives  of  Love;  while  the  pur 
suer  represented  the  less  engaging  interests  of  Property,  of  Law, 
and  of  the  Family.  All  the  romance  and  all  the  popular  interest 
were  manifestly  on  the  other  side,  not  on  Maitland 's  side.  Even 
his  tips  were  received  without  enthusiasm. 

Maitland  felt  these  disadvantages  keenly;  and  yet  he  had 
neither  the  time  nor  the  power  to  explain  matters.  Even  if  he 
had  told  every  one  he  met  that  he  was  really  the  young  lady's 
guardian,,  and  that  the  gentleman  in  the  fur  coat  was  (he  had 
every  reason  to  believe)  a  forger  and  a  miscreant,  he  would  not 
have  been  believed.  His  opinion  would,  not  unjustly,  have  been 
looked  on  as  distorted  by  what  Mr.  Herbert  Spencer  calls  "  the 
personal  bias."  He  had  therefore  to  put  up  with  general  dis 
trust  and  brief  discourteous  replies. 

Thnjre  are  many  young  ladies  in  the  refreshment-bar  at  Swin- 
don.  There  they  gather,  numerous  and  fair  as  the  sea-nymphs 
•»- Doto,  Proto,  Doris,  and  Panope,  and  beautiful  Galate'a.  Of 
them  Maitland  sought  to  be  instructed.  But  the  young  ladies 
were  arch  and  uncommunicative,  pretending  that  their  atten 
tion  was  engaged  in  their  hospitable  duties.  Soup  it  was  their 
business  to  minister  to  travelers,  not  private  information.  They 
had  seen  the  gentleman  and  lady.  Very  attentive  to  her  he 
fcemed.  Yes,  they  were  on  the  best  terms;  "  very  sweet  on 
•ach  other,"  one  young  lady  averred,  and  then  secured  her  re 
treat  and  concealed  her  blushes  by  ministering  to  the  wants  of  » 
hungry  and  hurried,  public.  All  this  was  horribly  disagreeable 
to  M&i 


40  THE   MARK    OF   CAIN.  ' 

Maitland  finally  reached  Paddington,  still  asking  questions. 
He  had  telegraphed  the  night  before  to  inquire  whether  two  per* 
sons  answering  to  the  oft-repeated  description  had  been  noticed 
at  the  terminus.  He  had  received  a  reply  in  the  negative  before 
leaving  Tiverton.  Here,  then,  was  a  check.  If  the  ticket-col 
lector  was  to  be  credited,  the  objects  of  his  search  had  reached 
Westbourne  Park,  where  their  tickets  had  been  taken.  There, 
however,  all  the  evidence  proved  that  they  had  not  descended,  \ 
Nobody  had  seen  them  alight.  Yet,  not  a  trace  was  to  be  found  * 
at  Paddington  of  a  gentleman  in  a  fur  coat,  nor  of  any  gentle 
man  traveling  alone  with  a  young  lady. 

It  was  nearly  nine  o'clock  when  Maitland,  puzzled,  worn  out, 
and  disgusted,  arrived  in  town.  He  did  what  he  could  in  th* 
way  of  interrogating  the  porters— ail  to  no  purpose.  In  th? 
crowd  and  bustle  of  passengers,  who  skirmish  for  their  luggage 
under  inadequate  lights  no  one  remembered  having  seen  either 
of  the  persons  whom  Maitland  described.  There  remained  tha, 
chance  of  finding  out  and  cross-examining  all  the  cab-drivers 
who  had  taken  up  passengers  by  the  late  trains  the  night  be 
fore.  But  that  business  could  not  be  transacted  at  the  moment, 
nor  perhaps  by  any  amateur. 

Maitland's  time  was  limited  indeed.  He  had  been  obliged  to 
get  out  at  Westbourne  Park  and  prosecute  his  inquisition  there. 
Thence  he  drove  to  Paddington,  and,  with  brief  enough  spac// 
for  investigations  that  yielded  .nothing,  he  took  his  ticket  by. 
the  9. 15  evening  train  for  Oxford.  His  whole  soul  was  set  oit 
consulting  Bielby  of  St.  Gatien's,  whom,  in  his  heart,  Maitland 
could  not  but  accuse  of  being  at  the  bottom  of  all  these  unprj* > 
cedented  troubles. 

If  Bielby  had  not  driven  him,  as  it  were,  cut  of  Oxford,  bj 
urging  him  to  acquire  a  wider  knowledge  of  humanity,  and  t«* 
expand  his  character  by  intercourse  with  every  variety  of  our 
fallen  species,  Maitland  felt  that  he  might  now  be  vegetating  in 
an  existence  peaceful,  if  not  well  satisfied.  "  Adventures  ar« 
to  the  adventurous."  It  is  a  hard  thing  when  they  have  to  be 
achieved  by  a  champion  who  is  not  adventurous  at  all.  If  hw 
had  not  given  up  his  own  judgment  to  Bielby 's,  Maitland  told 
himself,  he  never  would  have  plunged  into  philanthropic  enter 
prise,  he  never  would  have  taken  the  Hit  or  Miss,  he  never  would 
have  been  entangled  in  the  fortunes  of  Margaret  Shields,  and  he 
would  not  now  be  concerned  with  the  death,  in  the  snow,  of  a 
dissipated  old  wanderer,  nor  obliged  to  hunt  down  a  runaway 
or  kidnapped  schoolgirl.  Nor  would  he  be  suffering  the  keen 
and  wearing  anxiety  of  speculating  on  what  had  befallen  Mar 
garet. 

His  fancy  suggested  the  most  gloomy  yet  plausible  solutions 
of  the  mystery  of  her  disappearance.  In  spite  of  these  reflec- 
tions,  Maitiand's  confidence  in  the  sagacity  of  his  old  tutor  was 
unshaken.  Bielby  had  not  been  responsible  for  the  details  of 
the  methods  by  which  his  pupil  was  trying  to  expand  his  char 
acter.  Lastly,  he  reflected  that  if  he  had  not  taken  Bielby's 
advice,  and  left  Oxford,  he  never  would  have  known  Mrs.  St. 
•£ohu  Iteloraine,  the  lady  of  his  diffident  deskes. 


THE    MARK    OF    CAIN.  4! 

So  the  time  passed,  the  minutes  flitting  by,  like  the  telegraph 
posts,  ia  the  aark,  and  Maitland  reached  the  familiar  Oxford 
Station.  He  jumped  into  a  hansom,  and  said,  '•  Gafcieas." 
Past  Worcester,  up  Caxfax,  down  the  High  Street,  they  strug 
gled  through  the  snow;  and  at  last  Maitland  got  out  and  kicked 
at  the  college  gate.  The  porter  (it  was  nearly  midnight)  opened 
it  with  rather  a  scared  face: 

"  Horful  row  on  in  quad,  sir,''  he  said.  "  The  young  gentle 
men  'as  a  bonfire  on,  and  they're  a-larking  with  the  snow. 
Orf  ml  A  they're  a-making,  sir." 

The  agricultural  operation  thus  indicated  by  the  porter  was 
being  forwarded  with  great  vigor.  A  number  of  young  men, 
in  every  variety  of  garb  (from  ulsters  to  boating-coats),  were 
energetically  piling  up  a  huge  Alp  cf  snow  against  the  door  of 
the  Master's  lodge.  Meanwhile,  another  band  had  carried  into 
the  quad  ail  the  light  tables  and  cane  chairs  from  a  lecture- 
room.  Having  arranged  thesa  in  a  graceful  pyramidal  form, 
they  introduced  come  of  the  firelighters,  called  "  devils''  by  the 
college  servants,  and  set  a  match  to  the  whole. 

Maitland  stood  for  a  moment  in  doubt,  looking,  in  the  lurid 
glare,  very  like  a  magician  who  has  raised  an  army  of  Sends, 
and  cannot  find  work  for  them.  He  felt  no  disposition  to  inter 
fere,  though  the  venerable  mass  of  St.  Gatien's  seemed  in  mo 
mentary  peril,  and  the  noise  was  enough  to  waken  the  dead, 
let  alone  the  Bursar  of  Oriel.  But  Maitland  was  a  non-resident 
Fellow,  known  only  to  the  undergraduates,  where  he  was  known 
at  all,  as  a  "  Radical,"  with  any  number  of  decorative  epithets, 
according  to  the  taste  and  fancy  of  the  speaker.  He  did  not 
think  he  could  identify  any  of  the  rioters,  and  he  was  not  cer 
tain  that  they  would  not  carry  him  to  his  room,  and  there 
ecrew  him  up,  according  to  precedent. 

Maitland  had  too  much  sense  of  personal  dignity  to  face  the 
idea  of  owing  his  escape  from  his  chambers  to  the  resources  of 
civilization  at  the  command  of  the  college  blacksmith.  Ho 
therefore,  after  a  moment  of  irresolution,  stole  off  under  a  low- 


quadrangular.  Groping  and  stumbling  his  familiar  way  up  the 
darkest  of  spiral  staircases,  Maitland  missed  his  footing  and 
fell,  with  the  whole  weight  of  his  body,  against  the  door  at 
which  he  had  meant  to  knock.  Over  the  door  was  painted,  if 
any  one  couid  have  seen  it,  the  name  of 

MR  BIELBYv 

"  Come  in,**  said  a  gruff  voice,  as  if  the  knocking  had  been 
done  in  the  most  conventional  manner. 

Maitland  had  come  in  by  this  time,  and  found  the  distinguished 
Mr.  Bielby  Fellow  of  St.  Gatien's  sitting  by  his  fireside,  attired 
in  a  gray  shooting  coat,  and  busy  with  a  book  and  a  pipe.  This 
gentleman  had,  on  taking  his  degree,  gone  to  town,  and  prac 
ticed  with  singular  success  at  the  Chancery  Bar.  But  on  so 
sudden  disgust  or  disappointment,  he  threw  up  his  pracnc-3. 


43  THE    MARK    OF    CA.ZN., 

turned  to  college,  and  there  lived  a  retired  life  among  hie 
**  brown  Greek  manuscripts.''  He  was  a  man  of  the  world,  turned 
hermit,  and  the  first  of  the  kind  whom  Maitland  had  ever 
known.  He  had  " coached"'  Maitiand,  though  he  usually  took 
no  pupils,  and  remained  his  friend  and  counselor." 

"  How  are  you,  Maitlard?'  said  the  student,  without  rising. 
"  I  thought,  from  the  way  in  which  you  knocked,  that  you  were 
some  of  the  young  men.  coming  to  *  draw  me,*  as  I  think  they 
call  it."  f 

Mr.  Bielby  smiled  as  he  spoke.  He  knew  that  the  under-  r 
graduates  were  as  likely  to  "draw"  him  as  boys  who  hunt  a  | 
hare  are  likely  to  draw  a  fierce  old  bear  that  "  dwells  among  j. 
bones  and  blood." 

Mr.  Bielby's  own  environment,  to  be  sure,  was  not  of  the  grisly  | 
and  mortuary  character  thus  energetically  described  by  the- .poet.  j 
His  pipe  was' in  his  hand.  His  broad,  bald,  red  face,  ending  in  \. 
an  auburn,  spade-shaped  beard,  wore  the  air  of  content.  Around 
him  were  old  books  that  had  belonged  to  famous  students  of  old 
— Scaliger,  Meursius,  Muretus — and  before  him  lay  the  proof- 
sheets  of  his  long-deferred  work,  a  new  critical  edition  of 
"  Demetrius  of  Scepsis/' 

Looking  at  his  friend,  Maitland  envied  the  learned  calm  of  a 
man  who  had  not  contrived,  in  the  task  of  developing  his  own 
human  nature,  to  become  involved,  like  his  pupil,  in  a  singular 
and  deplorable  conjuncture  of  circumstances. 

"The  men  are  making  a  terrible  riot  in  quad,"  he  said,  answer 
ing  the  other's  remark. 

"Yes,  yes,"  replied  Bielby,  genially;  "boys  will  be  boys,  and 
eo  will  young  men.  I  believe  our  Torpid  has  bumped  Keble,  and 
the  event  is  being  celebrated.*' 

Here  there  came  a  terrific  howl  from  without,  and  a  crash  of 
broken  glass. 

"  There  go  some  windows  into  their  battels,"  said  Mr.  Bielby. 
*'  They  will  hear  of  this  from  the  provost.  But  what  brings  you 
here,  Maitland,  so  unexpectedly?  Very  glad  to  see  you,  what 
ever  it  is." 

"Well,  sir,"  said  Maitland,  "I  rather  want  to  ask  your  advice 
on  an  important  matter.  The  fact  is.  to  begin  at  the  beginning 
of  a  long  story,  that  some  time  ago  I  got,  more  or  less,  engaged 
to  be  married." 

Tliis  was  not  a  very  ardent  or  lover-like  announcement,  but 
Bielby  seemed  gratified.  | 

"  Ah-ha,"  replied  the  tutor,  with  a  humorous  twinkle.  J 
*'  Happy  to  hear  it.  Indeed,  I  had  heard  a  rumor,  a  whisper! 
A  little  bird,  as  they  say,  brought  a  hint  of  it — I  hope,  Mait 
land,  a  happy  otnen!  A  pleasant  woman  of  the  world,  one  who 
can  take  her  own  part  in  society,  and  your  part,  too,  a  little — if 
you  will  let  me  say  so — is  exactly  what  you  need.  I  congratulate 
you  very  heartily.  And  are  we  likely  to  see  the  young  lady  m 
Oxford  ?  Where  is  she  just  now  ?" 

Maitland  saw  that  the  learned  Bielby  had  indeed  heard  some 
thing,  and  not  the  right  thing.  He  flushed  all  over  as  he  though! 
c£  t&s  &r&&,  and  of  Mrs.  St.  John  Delorain*. 


I 


THE   MARK    OF   CAIN.  41 

*  **  Tm  sure  I  wish  I  knew,"  said  Maitland  at  last,  beginning  to 
find  this  consulting  of  the  oracle  a  little  difficult.  "  The  fact  ie, 
that's  just  what  I  wanted  to  consult  you  about.  I— I'm  afraid 
I've  lost  all  traces  of  the  young  lady." 

'*  Why,  what  do  you  mean  ?"  asked  the  don,  his  face  suddenly 
growing  grave,  while  his  voice  had  not  yet  lost  its  humorous 
tone.  "She  has  not  eloped?  You  don't  mean  to  tell  rue  she 
Las  run  away  from  you  ?" 

**  I  really  don't  know  what  to  say,"  answered  Maitland.  "  I'm 
afraid  ehe'has  been  run  away  with,  that  she  is  the  victim  of 
Borne  plot  or  conspiracy." 

**  You*  surely  can't  mean  what  you  say  *'  (and  now  the  voice 
was  gruffer  than  ever).  **  People  don't  plot  and  conspire  now 
adays,  if  ever  they  did,  which  probably  they  didn't!  And  who 
are  the  young  lady's  people  ?  Why  don't  they  look  after  her  ? 
I  had  heard  she  was  n  widow,  but  she  must  have  friends." 

"  She  is  not  a  widow— she  is  an  orphan,"  said  Maitland,  blush 
ing  painfully.  "  I  am  her  guardian  in  a  kind  of  way." 

'*  Why,  the  wrong  stories  hav  reached  me  altogether.  I'm 
sure  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  did  you  tell  me  her  name  ?" 

"  Her  name  is  Shields—  Margaret  Shields" — ("  Not  the  name  I 
was  told,"  muttered  Bielby) — "and  her  father  was  a  man  who 
had  been  rather  unsuccessful  in  life." 

**'  What  was  his  profession,  what  did  he  do  ?;' 

"  He  had  been  a  sailor,  I  think,"  said  the  academic  philan 
thropist;  •*  but  when  I  knew  him  he  had  left  the  sea,  and  was, 
in  fact,  as  far  as  he  was  anything,  a  professional  tattooer." 

"  What's  that?" 

44  He  tattooed  patterns  on  sailors  and  people  of  that  class  for  a 
livelihood." 

Bielby  sat  perfectly  silent  for  a  few  minutes,  and  no  one  who 
saw  him  could  doubt  that  his  silence  arose  from  a  conscious  want 
of  words  on  a  level  with  the  situation. 

"Has  Miss — h'm,  Spears— Shields  ?  thank  you;  has  she  been 
an  orphan  long  ?"  he  asked,  at  length,  Ha  was  clearly  trying  to 
hope  that  the  most  undesirable  prospective  father-in-law  de 
scribed  by  Maitland  had  long  been  removed  from  the  opportu 
nity  of  forming  his  daughter's  character. 

44 1  only  heard  of  his  death  yesterday,"  said  Maitland. 

*'  Was  it  sudden  ?" 

*'  Why,  yes.  The  fact  is,  he  was  a  man  of  rather  irregular 
habits,  and  he  was  discovered  dead  in  one  of  the  carts  belonging 
to  the  Vestry  of  St.  George's,  Hanover  Square." 

"St.  George's,  Hanover  Square,  indeed!"  said  the  don,  and" 
once  more  lie  relapsed,  after  a  long  whistle,  into  a  significant 
silence*  "  Maitland,"  he  said,  at  last,  '•  how  did  you  come  to  be 
acquainted  with  these  people?  The  father,  as  I  understand, 
was  a  kind  of  artist ;  but  you  can't,  surely,  have  met  them  in 
society  ?" 

'*  He  came  a  good  <leal  to  my  public-house,  the  Hit  or  Miss.  I 
think  I  told  you  about  it,  sir,  and  you  rather  seemed  to  approve 
of  it  The  tavern  in  Chelsea,  if  you  remember,  where  I  was  try 


44  THE   MARK    OF   CAIN. 

fng  to  do  something  for  the  riverside  population,  and  to  mi* 
with  them  for  their  good,  you  know." 

"  Good-night!"  growied  Bielby,  very  abruptly,  and  with  con 
siderable  determination  in  his  tone.  "  1  am  rather  busy  this 
evening.  I  think  you  had  better  think  no  more  about  the  young 
lady,  and  sav  nothing  whatever  about  the  matter  to  any  one. 
Good-night!" 

So  speaking,  the  hermit  lighted  his  pipe,  which,  in  the  aston 
ishment  caused  by  Maitland's  avowals,  he  had  allowed  to  go  out, 
and  he  applied  himself  to  a  large  old  silver  tankard,  He  was  a 
scholar  of  the  Cambridge  school,  and  drank  beer.  Maitland 
knew  his  friend  and  mentor  too  well  to  try  to  prolong  the  con 
versation,  and  withdrew  to  his  bleak  college  room,  where  a 
timid  fire  was  smoking  and  crackling  among  the  wet  faggots, 
with  a  feeling  that  he  must  steer  his  own  course  in  this  affair. 
It  was  clearly  quite  out  of  the  path  of  Bielby's  experience, 

"  And  yet,"  thought  Maitland,  "  if  I  had  not  taken  his  advice 
about  trying  to  become  more  human,  and  taken  that  infernal 
public- house  too,  I  never  would  have  been  in  this  hole." 

All  day  Maitland  had  scarcely  tasted  anything  that  might  rea 
sonably  be  called  food.  ••  He  had  eaten;  he  had  not  dined,"  to 
adopt  the  distinction  of  Brillat-Savarin.  He  had  been  depend 
ent  on  the  gritty  and  flaccid  hospitalities  of  refreshment-rooms, 
on  the  sandwich  and  the  bun.  Now  he  felt  faint  as  well,  as 
weary;  but,  rummaging  amidst  his  cupboards,  he  could  find  no 


provisions  more  tempting  and  nutritious  than  a  box  of  potted 
shrimps,  from  the  college  stores,  and  a  bottle  of  some  Hungarian 
Ing  firm  to  the  involuntary  bailees  of 
not  feel  equal  to  tackling  these  deli- 


>O,    CCX1VA     Cfc    UrVVfA*?     WA      QV>AI~1\>     *»&  lUJKCfet  U*J-& 

vintage  sent  by  an  advertising  firm  to  the  involuntary  bailees  of 
St.  Gatien's.    Maitland  did  n< 


cacies. 

He  did  not  forget  that  he  had  neglected  to  answer  a  note,  en 
philanthropic  business,  from  Mrs.  St.  John  Deloraine.  Weary  aa 
he  was,  he  took  pleasure  in  replying  at  length,  and  left  the  letter 
out  for  his  scout  to  post.  Then,  with  a  heavy  headache,  he  tum 
bled  into  bed,  where,  for  that  matter,  he  went  on  tumbling  and 
tossing  during  the  greater  part  of  the  night.  About  five  o'clock 
he  fell  into  a  sleep  full  of  dreams,  only  to  be  awakened,  at  six,  by 
the  steam- whooper,  or  "devil,"  a  sweet  boon  with  which  his 
philanthropy  had  helped  to  endow  the  reluctant  and  even  recal 
citrant  University  of  Oxford. 

"  Instead  of  becoming  human,  I  have  only  become  humani 
tarian,"  Maitland  seemed  to  hear  his  own  thoughts  whispering 
to  himself  in  a  nightmare.  Through  the  slowly  broadening 
winter  dawn,  in  snatches  of  sleep  that  lasted,  or  seemed  to  last, 
live  minutes  at  a  time,  Maitland  felt  the  thought  repeating  it 
self,  like  some  haunting  refrain,  with  a  feverish  iteration, 

CHAPTER  VII. 

AFTER  THE  INQUEST. 

To  be  ill  in  college  rooms,  how  miserable  it  is!    Maitland'a 

scout  called  him  at  half -past  seven  with  the  invariable  question, 

'  Do  you  breakfast  out,  sir  ?"    U  A  man  were  in  the  eo»denmea 


THE   MARK    OF   CAIN:  41 

cell,  his  scout  (if  in  attendance)  would  probably  arouse  him  on 
die  morning  of  his  execution  with,  "  Do  you  breakfast  out,  sir  7* 

"  No,"  said  Maitland,  in  reply  to  the  changeless  inquiry,  "  in 
common  room  as  usual.  Pack  my  bag,  I  am  going  down  by  the 
pine  o'clock  train." 

Then  he  rose  and  tried  to  dress;  but  his  head  ached  more  than 
ever,  his  legs  seemed  to  belong  to  some  one  else,  and  to  be  no 
subject  of  just  complacency  to  their  owner.  He  reeled  as  he 
strove  to  cross  the  room,  then  he  struggled  back  into  bed,  where, 
feeling  alternately  hot  and  cold,  he  covered  himself  with  his 
ulster,  in  addition  to  his  blankets.  Anywhere  but  in  college, 
Maitland  would,  of  course,  have  rung  the  bell  and  called  his 
servant;  but  in  our  conservative  universities,  and  especially  in 
so  reverend  a  pile  as  St.  Gatien's,  there  was,  naturally,  no  bell  to 
ring.  Maitland  began  to  try  to  huddle  himself  into  his  great 
coat,  that  he  might  crawl  to  the  window  and  shout  to  Dakyns, 
his  scout. 

But  at  this  moment  there  fell  most  gratefully  on  his  ear  the 
epund  of  a  strenuous  sniff,  repeated  at  short  intervals  in  his  sit 
ting-room.  Often  had  Maitland  regretted  the  chronic  cold  and 
handkerchiefless  condition  of  his  bedmaker;  but  now  her  sniff 
was  welcome  as  music,  much  more  so  than  that  of  two  hunting 
horns  which  ambitious  sportsmen  were  trying  to  blow  in  quad. 

*"Mrs.  Trattles!"  cried  Maitland,  and  his  own  voice  sounded 
faint  in  his  ears.  "  Mrs.  Trattles!" 

The  lady  thus  invoked  answered  with  becoming  modesty, 
punctuated  by  sniffs,  from  the  other  side  of  the  door: 


*'  Yes,  sir;  can  I  do  anything  for  you,  sir?" 
"  Call  Dakyns,  please,"  said  Maitland, 


falling  back  on  his  pil 
low.  «« I  don't  feel  very  well." 

Dakyns  appeared  in  due  course. 

"Sorry  to  hear  you're  ill,  sir;  you  do  look  a  little  flushed. 
Eadn't  I  better  send  for  Mr.  Whalley,  sir  ?" 

Now,  Mr.  Whalley  was  the  doctor  whom  Oxford,  especially 
the  younger  generation,  delighted  to  honor. 

**  No;  1  don't  think  you  need.  Bring  me  breakfast  here.  I 
think  I'll  be  able  to  start  for  town  by  the  11.58.  And  bring  me 
my  letters." 

"  Very  well,  sir,"  answered  Dakyns. 

Then,  with  that  fearless  assumption  of  responsibility  which 

ways  does  an  Englishman  credit,  he  sent  the  college  messenger 
in  search  of  Mr.  Whalley  before  he  brought  round  Maitland'a 
letters  and  his  breakfast  commons. 

There  were  no  letters  bearing  on  the  subject  of  Margaret's 
disappearance;  if  any  such  had  been  addressed  to  him,  they 
would  necessarily  be,  as  Maitland  remembered  after  his  first 
feeling  of  disappointment,  at  his  rooms  in  London.  Neither  Miss 
Harlett,  if  she  had  aught  to  communicate,  nor  any  one  else, 
could  be  expected  to  know  that  Maitland'a  first  act  would  be  to 
rush  to  Oxford  and  consult  Bielby. 

The  guardian  of  Margaret  turned  with  no  success  to  his 
breakfast  commons:  even  tea  appeared  unwelcome  and  imposs** 


48  THE   MARK    OF   CAIN. 

Maitland  felt  very  drowsy,  dull,  indifferent,  when  a  knock 
came  to  his  door,  and  Mr.  Whalley  entered.  He  could  not  re 
member  having  sent  for  him;  but  he  felt  that,  as  an  invalid  once 
»ai'i,  "  there  was  a  pain  somewhere  in  the  room,"  and  he  was 
feebly  pleased  to  see  his  physician. 

*  A  very  bad  feverish  cold,"  was  the  verdict,  and  Mr.  Whalley 
\vouid  call  again  next  day,  till  which  time  Maitland  was  forbid 
den  to  leave  his  room. 

He  drowsed  through  the  day,  disturbed  by  occasional  howls 
from  the  quadrangle,  where  the  men  were  snowballing  a  little, 
and,  later,  by  the  scraping  shovels  of  the  navvies  who  had  been 
sent  in  to  remove  the  snow,  and  with  it  the  efficient  cause  <*£. 
nocturnal  disorders  in  St.  Gatien's. 

So  the  time  passed,  Maitland  not  being  quite  conscious  of  its 
passage,  and  each  hour  putting  Margaret  Shields  more  and  more 
beyond  the  reach  of  the  very  few  people  who  were  interested  in 
her  existence.  Maitland's  illness  took  a  more  severe  form  than 
"Whalley  had  anticipated,  and  the  lungs  were  affected.  Bielby 
Tras  informed  of  his  state,  and  came  to  see  him;  but  Maitland 
talked  so  wildly  about  the  Hit  or  Miss,  about  the  man  in  the 
bearskin  coat,  and  other  unintelligible  matters,  that  the  hermit 
soon  withdrew  to  the  more  comprehensible  fragments  of  "  Denie- 
*£ius  of  Scepsis."  He  visited  his  old  pupil  daily,  and  behaved 
•w?*J>  real  kindness;  but  the  old  implicit  trust  never  revived  with 
«£Hitland's  returning  health. 

At  last  the  fever  abated.  Maitland  felt  weak,  yet  perfectly 
conscious  of  what  had  passed,  and  doubly  anxious  about  what 
was  to  be  done,  if  there  was,  indeed,  a  chance  of  doing  any 
thing. 

Men  of  his  own  standing  had  by  this  time  become  aware  that 
he  was  in  Oxford,  and  sick,  consequently  there  was  always  some 
one  to  look  after  him. 

"  Brown,"  said  Maitland  to  a  friend,  on- the  fifth  day  after  his 
illness  began,  *'  would  you  mind  giving  me  my  things?  I'll  try 
to  dress." 

The  experiment  was  so  far  successful  that  Maitland  left  the 

Saeer  bare  slit  of  a  place  called  his  bedroom  (formed,  like  many 
xford  bedrooms,  by  a  partition  added  to  the  large  single  room 
of  old  times),  and  moved  into  the  weirdly  eesthetic  study,  deco 
rated  in  the  Early  William  Morris  manner. 

"  Now  will  you  howl  for  Dakyns,  and  make  him  have  this 
telegram  sent  to  the  post  ?  Awfully  sorry  to  trouble  you,  but  I 
can't  howl  yet  for  myself,"  whispered  Maitland,  huskily,  as  IIQ 
scribbled  on  a  telegraph  form. 

"  Delighted  to  howl  for  you,"  said  Brown,  and  presently  the 
•wires  were  carrying  a  message  to  Barton  in  town.  Maitland 
wanted  to  see  him  at  once,  on  very  pressing  business.  In  a 
couple  of  hours  there  came  a  reply:  Barton  would  be  with  Mait 
land  by  dinner-time. 

The  ghostly  room,  in  the  Early  William  Morris  manner,  looked 
oozy  and  even  homelike  when  the  lamp  was  lit,  when  the  dusky 
blue  curtains  were  drawn,  and  a  monster  of  the  deep— one  of 
the  famous  Oxford  soles,  larger  than  you  ever  see  them  else* 


THE   MARS    OF 

where—smoked  bet  ween  Maitland  and  Barton.  Beside  the  latter 
stood  a  silver  quart  pot,  full  of  "  strong,"  a  reminiscence  of  "  the 
old  coaching  aays,"  when  Maitland  had  read  with  Barton  for 
Greats.  The  invalid's  toast  and  water  wore  an  air  of  modest 
conviviality,  and  might  have  been  mistaken  for  sherry  by  any 
one  who  relied  merely  on  such  information  as  is  furnished  by 
the  sense  of  eight.  The  wing  of  a  partridge  (the  remainder  of 
the  brace  fell  to  Barton's  lot)  was  disposed  of  by  the  patient; 
and  then,  over  the  wine,  which  he  did  not  touch,  and  the  wal 
nuts,  which  he  tried  nervously  to  crack  in  his  thin,  white  hands, 
Maitland  made  confession  and  sought  advice. 

It  was  certainly  much  easier  talking  to  Barton  than  to  Bielby, 
fcvr  Barton  knew  so  much  already,  especially  about  the  Hit  or 
Miss;  but  when  it  came  to  the  story  of  the  guardianship  of  Mar 
garet,  and  the  kind  of  prospective  engagement  to  that  young 
lady,  Barton  rose  and  began  to  walk  about  the  room.  But  the 
old  beams  creaked  under  him  in  the  weak  places;  and  Barton, 
«eeing  how  much  he  discomposed  Maitland,  sat  down  again,  and 
^steadied  his  nerves  with  a  glass  of  the  famous  St.  Gatien's  port. 

Then,  when  Maitland  in  the  orderly  course  of  his  narrative, 
came  to  the  finding  of  poor  Dick  Shields'  body  in  the  snow-cart, 
Barton  cried,  "  Why,  you  don'fcjtaean  to  say  that  was  the  man, 
.the  girl's  father  ?  By  George,  I  can  tell  you  something  about 
him  I  At  the  inquest  my  partner,  old  Munby,  made  out " 

"Has  there  been  an  inquest  already?  Oh,  of  course  there 
must  have  been,"  said  Maitland,  whose  mind  had  run  so  much 
on  Margaret's  disappearance  that  he  had  given  little  of  his 
thoughts  (weak  and  inconsecutive  enough  of  l&te)  to  the  death 
of  her  father. 

"  Of  course  there  has  been  an  inquest.  Have  you  not  read  the 
papers  since  you  were  ill  T 

Now,  Maitland  had  the  common-room  back  numbers  of  the 
Times  since  the  day  of  his  return  from  Devonshire  in  his  study 
at  that  very  moment.  But  his  reading,  so  far,  had  been  limitea 
to  the  "Agony  Column"  of  the  advertisements  (where  he  half 


had  cast  any  light  on  the  fortunes  of  Margaret. 

"  I  have  not  seen  anything  about  the  inquest,"  he  said. 
"What  verdict  did  they  bring  in?  The  usual  one,  I  suppose 
— *  Visitation,*  and  all  that  kind  of  thing,  or  «  Death  from  ex 
posure  while  under  the  influence  of  alcoholic  stimulants.'  " 

"That's  exactly  what  they  made  it,"  said  Barton;  "and  I 
don't  blame  them;  for  the  medical  evidence  my  worthy  partner 
gave  left  them  no  other  choice.  You  can  see  what  he  said  for 
yourself  in  the  papers." 

Barton  had  been  turning  over  the  file  of  the  Times,  and 
showed  Maitland  the  brief  record  of  the  inquest  and  the  verdict; 
matters  so  common  that  their  chronicle  might  be,  and  perhaps 
is,  kept  stereotyped,  with  blanks  for  names  and  dates. 

M  A  miserable  end,"  said  Maitland,  when  he  had  perused  the 
paragraph,  "  And  now  I  had  better  go  on  witi  my  story  ?  But 


4S  THE    MARK    OF 

what  did  you  mean  by  saying  you  didn't '  blame '  the  coroh*r * 
jury  ?" 

44  Have  you  any  more  story  ?  Is  it  not  enough  ?  I  don't  k»je  w 
that  I  should  tell  you;  it  is  too  horrid  1" 

"  Don't  keep  anything  from  me,  please,"  said  Maitland,  Hior- 
ing  nervously.  **  I  must  know  everything." 

•*  Well,"  answered  Barton,  his  voice  sinking  to  a  tone  of  re 
luctant  horror — "well,  your  poor  friend  was  murdered! 
That's  what  I  meant  when  I  said  I  did  not  blame  the  jury;  they 
could  have  given  no  other  verdict  than  they  did  on  the  evidence 
of  my  partner." 

Murder!  The  very  word  has  power  to  startle,  as  if  the  crime 
were  a  new  thing,  not  as  old  (so  all  religions  tell  us)  a.3  the  first 
brothers.  As  a  meteoric  stone  falls  on  our  planet,  strange  and 
unexplained,  a  waif  of  the  universe,  from  a  nameless  system-,  so 
the  horror  of  murder  descends  on  us,  when  we  meet  it,  with  an 
alien  dread,  as  of  an  intrusion  from  some  lost  start  some  wan 
dering  world  that  is  hell. 

"Murdered!"  cried  Maitland.  "Why,  Barton,  you  must  be 
dreaming!  Who  on  earth  could  have  murdered  poor  Shields? 
If  ever  there  was  a  man  who  was  no  one's  enemy  but  his  own, 
that  man  was  Shields!  And  he  iterally  had  nothing  that  any 
one  could  have  wanted  to  steal.  I  allowed  him  so  much — a 
email  sum — paid  weekly,  on  Thursdays;  and  it  was  a  Wednesday 
when  he  was — when  he  died.  lie  could  not  have  had  a  shilling 
at  that  moment  in  the  world!'' 

*'  I  am  very  sorry  to  have  to  repeat  it,  but  murdered  he  was, 
all  the  same,  and  that  by  a  very  cunning  and  cautious  villain — a 
man,  I  should  say,  of  some  education." 

"  But  how  could  it  possibly  have  been  done?  There's  the  evi 
dence  before  you  in  the  paper.  There  was  not  a  trace  of  vio 
lence  on  him,  and  the  circumstances,  which  were  so  character 
istic  of  his  ways,  were  more  than  enough  to  account  for  his 
death.  The  exposure,  the  cold,  the  mere  sleeping  in  the  snow 
—it's  well  known  to  be  fatal.  Why,"  said  Maitland,  eagerly, 
*' in  a  long  walk  home  from  shooting  in  winter,  I  have  had  to 
send  back  a  beater  for  one  of  the  keepers;  and  we  found  him 
quite  asleep,  in  a  snowdrift,  under  a  hedge.  He  never  would 
Have  wakened." 

He  was  naturally  anxious  to  refute  the  horrible  conclusion 
which  Barton  had  arrived  at. 

The  young  doctor  only  shook  his  head.  His  opinion  was 
manifestly  fixed. 

"  But  how  can  you  possibly  knew  better  than  the  jury,"  urge* 
Maitland  peevishly,  "and  the  coroner,  and  the  medical  c nicer 
for  the  district,  who  were  all  convinced  that  his  death  was  per 
fectly  natural — that  he  got  drunk,  lost  his  way,  laid  down  in  the 
cart,  and  perished  of  exposure  ?  Why,  you  did  not  even  hear 
the  evidence.  1  can't  make  out,"  he  went  on,  witii:tho  qaeru- 
lousness  of  an  invalid,  "  why  you  sfcouid  have  come  up  just  to 
talk  such  nonsense.  The  coroner  and  the  jury  arw  sine  t>.  Lave 
been  right." 

"  Weil,  you  see,  it  was  not  th^  coroner*!*  business  nor 


THE   MARK    OF   CAIN.  tt 

Irasfaess  to  fepow  better  than  the  medical  officer  for  the  district, 
on  whose  evidence  they  relied.  But  it  is  my  business;  for  the 
said  officer  is  my  partner,  and,  but  for  me,  our  business  would 
be  worth  very  little.  He  is  about  as  ignorant  and  easy-going  an 
excellent  old  fellow  as  ever  let  a  life  slip  out  of  his  hands." 

"Then  if  you  knew  so  much,  why  didn't  you  keep  him 
straight  T 

*'  Well,  as  it  happened,  I  was  down  in  Surrey  with  my  people, 
at  a  wedding,  when  the  death  occurred,  and  they  made  a  rather 
superficial  examination  of  the  deceased." 

"  Still,  I  see  less  than  ever  how  you  got  a  chance  to  form  such 
ftn  extraordinary  and  horrible  opinion  if  you  were  not  there, 
and  had  only  this  printed  evidence,"  said  Maitland,  waving  a 
sheet  of  the  Times,  "to  go  by;  and  this  is  dead  against  you. 
You're  too  clever." 

"  But  I  made  a  proper  and  most  careful  examination  myself, 
on  my  return  to  town,  the  day  after  the  inquest,"  said  Barton, 
"  and  1  found  evidence  enough  for  me — never  mind  where— to 
put  the  matter  beyond  reach  of  doubt.  The  man  was  murdered, 
and  murdered,  as  I  said,  very  deliberately,  by  some  one  who  was 
not  an  ordinary  ignorant  scoundrel." 

*!  Still,  I  don't  see  how  you  got  a  chance  to  make  your  exami 
nation,"  said  Maitland;  "  the  man  would  be  buried  as  usual " 

"  Excuse  rue*  The  unclaimed  bodies  of  paupers — and  there 
was  no  one  to  claim  his — are  reserved,  if  needed- " 

"  I  see— don't  go  on,"  said  Maitland,  turning  rather  pale,  and 
fall  ing  back  on  his  sofa,  where  he  lay  for  a  little  with  his  eyes 
shut.  "  It  is  all  the  fault  of  this  most  unlucky  illness  of  mine," 
he  said,  presently.  "  In  my  absence,  and  as  nobody  knew  where 
I  was,  there  was  naturally  no  one  to  claim  the  body.  The  kind 
of  people  who  knew  about  him  will  take  no  trouble  or  risk  hi  a 
case  like  that."  He  was  silent  again  for  a  few  moments;  then, 
'*  What  do  you  make  out  to  have  been  the  cause  of  death?"  he 
asked. 

"  Well,"  said  Barton,  slowly,  *'  I  don't  much  care  to  go  into 
details  which  you  may  say  I  can  hardly  prove,  and  I  don't  want 
to  distress  you  in  your  present  state  of  health." 

'*  Why  don't  you  speak  out  ?  Was  he  poisoned?  Did  you  de 
tect  arsenic  or  anything?  He  had  been  drinking  with  some 
One!" 

'*  No;  if,  in  a  sense,  he  had  been  poisoned,  there  was  literally 
nothing  that  could  be  detected  by  the  most  skilled  analysis. 
But,  my  dear  fellow,  there  are  venoms  that  leave  no  internal 
trace.  If  I  am  right — and  I  think  I  am— he  was  destroyed  by 
cue  of  these.  He  had  been  a  great  traveler,  had  he  not  ?" 

"  Yes,"  answered  Maitland. 

*'  Well,  it  is  strange;  the  murderer  must  have  been  a  great 
traveler  also.  He  must  have  been  among  the  Macoushi  Indiana 
of  Guiana,  and  well  acquainted  with  their  arts.  I  know  them 
too.  I  went  there  botanizing." 

**  You  won't  be  more  explicit?" 

**  No,"  he  said;  '•  you  must  take  it  on  my  word,  after  alL" 

Maitland,  if  not  convincatL  was  silent.    Ho  had  knowledge 


tie  TffS   MARK    OF   CAIN. 

«ncraj£hof  Barton,  and  of  his  heal  thy  and  joyous  nature,  to  us 
certain  that  his  theory  was  no  morbid  delusion;  that  he  had  good 
grounds  for  an  opinion  which,  as  he  said,  he  could  no  longer 
prove — which  was,  indeed,  now  incapable  of  any  proof.  No  one 
had  seen  the  commission  of  the  crime,  and  the  crime  was  of  such 
a  nature,  and  so  cunningly  planned,  that  it  could  not  possibly  be 
otherwise  brought  home  to  the  murderer. 

Now  Maitland,  knowing  the  Hit  or  Miss,  and  the  private  room 
up-stairs  with  the  dormer  windows,  where  the  deed  must  have 
been  done,  if  done  at  all,  was  certain  that  there  could  not  pos 
sibly  have  been  any  eye-witness  of  the  crime. 

"What  shall  you  do?"  he  asked,  "or  have  you  done  any. 
thing  in  consequence  of  your  discovery?  Have  you  been  to  the 
police  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Barton;  "  where  was  the  use?  How  can  I  prove 
anything  now  ?  It  is  not  as  if  poison  had  been  used,  that  could 
be  detected  by  analysis.  Besides,  I  reflected  that  if  I  was  right, 
the  less  fuss  made,  the  more  likely  was  the  murderer  to  show 
his  hand.  Supposing  he  had  a  secret  motive — and  he  must  have 
had— he  wiLl  act  on  that  motive  sooner  or  later.  The  quieter 
everything  is  kept,  the  more  he  feels  certain  he  is  safe,  the 
sooner  he  will  move  in  some  way  or  other.  Then,  perhaps, 
there  may  bo  a  chance  of  detecting  him;  but  it's  an  outside 
chance.  Do  you  know  anything  of  the  dead  man's  past  history  ?" 

'*  Nothing,  except  that  he  was  from  the  north,  and  had  Jived 
a  wandering  life." 

*'  Well,  we  must  wait  and  see.  But  there  is  his  daughter,  left 
tinder  your  care.  What  do  you  mean  to  do  about  her  ?* 

The  question  brought  Maitland  back  to  his  old  perplexities, 
•which  were  now  so  terribly  increased  and  confused  by  what  he 
had  just  been  told. 

"  I  was  going  to  tell  you,  when  you  broke  in  with  this  dread 
ful  business.  Things  were  bad  before;  now  they  are  awful," 
said  Maitland.  "JEft's  daughter  has  disappeared/  That  was 
what  I  was  coming  to;  that  was  the  rest  of  my  story.  It  was 
difficult  and  distressing  enough  before  I  knew  what  you  tell  ine; 
now — great  heavens!  what  am  I  to  do  ?" 

He  turned  on  the  sofa,  quite  overcome.  Barton  put  his  hand 
encouragingly  on  his  shoulder,  and  sat  so  for  some  minutes. 

"  Tell  me  all  about  it,  old  boy?"  asked  Barton,  at  length. 

He  was  very  much  interested,  and  most  anxious  to  aid  his  un- 
j  fortunate  friend.  His  presence  somehow,  was  full  of  help  and 
comfort.  Maitland  no  longer  felt  alone  and  friendless,  as  he 
had  clone  after  his  consultation  of  Bielby.  Thus  encouraged,  he 
told,  as  clearly  and  fully  tfs  possible,  the  tale  of  the  disappear 
ance  of  Margaret,  and  of  his  entire  failure  even  to  come  upon 
her  traces  or  those  of  her  companion. 

*'  And  you  have  heard  nothing  since  your  illness  ?" 

'*  Nothing  to  my  purpose.    What  do  you  advise  me  to  do?' 

*'  There  is  only  one  thing  certain,  to  my  mind,"  said  Barton. 
**  The  seafaring  man  with  whom  Shields  was  drinking  on  the 
last  night  of  his  life,  and  the  gentleman  in  the  fur  traveli»g-eoat 
tixa  telegram  in  your  name  and  took  away  Margaret 


THE   MARK    OF    CAIN.  51 

from  Miss  Marlett'e,  are  in  the  same  employment,  or,  by  George, 
are  probably  the  same  person.  Now,  have  you  any  kind  of  sus 
picion  who  they  or  he  may  be  ?  or  can  you  suggest  any  way  of 
tracking  him  or  them  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Maitland;  "my  mind  is  a  perfect  blank  on  the 
subject.  I  never  heard  of  the  sailor  till  the  woman  at  the  Hit 
or  Miss  mentioned  him,  the  night  the  body  was  found.  An '3  I 
never  heard  of  a  friend  of  Shields',  a  friend  who  was  a  gentle 
man,  till  I  went  down  to  the  school." 

1  'Then  all  we  can  do  at  present  is,  not  to  set  the  police  at 
work— they  would  only  prevent  the  man  from  showing — but  to 
find  out  whether  any  one  answering  to  the  description  is 
*  wanted,'  or  is  on  their  books,  at  Scotland  Yard.  Why  are  %ve 
not  in  Paris,  where  a  man,  whatever  his  social  position  might 
be,  who  was  capable  of  that  unusual  form  of  crime,  would  cer 
tainly  have  his  dossier  ?  They  order  these  things  better  in 
France." 

"There  is  just  one  thing  about  him,  at  least  about  the  IB  an 
who  was  drinking  with  poor  Shields  on  the  night  of  his  death. 
He  was  almost  certainly  tattooed  with  some  marks  or  other.  ?n» 
deed,  I  remember  Mrs."  Gullick— that's  the  landlady  of  the  I  [it 
or  Miss— saying  that  Shields  had  been  occupied  in  tattooing  him. 
He  did  a  good  deal  in  that  way  for  sailors." 

"By  Jove,"  said  Barton,  "if  any  fellow  understands  tattoo* 
ing,  and  the  class  of  jail-birds  who  practice  it,  I  do.  It  is  a  ole^ 
after  a  fashion;  but,  after  all,  many  of  them  that  go  down  to  tha 
eea  in  ships  are  tattooed,  even  when  they  are  decent  fellows; 
and  besides,  we  seldom,  in  our  stage  of  society,  get  a  view  of  a, 
fellow-creature  with  nothing  on  but  these  early  decorative  de 
signs." 

This  was  only  too  obvious,  and  rather  damping  to  Maitland, 
who  for  a  moment  had  been  inclined  to  congratulate  himself  oa 
his  flair  as  a  detective. 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE    JAFFA    ORANGES. 

**  Letting  1  dare  not  wait  upon  1  would." 

OF  all  fairy  gifts,  surely  the  most  desirable  in  prospect,  and 
the  most  embarrassing  in  practice,  would  be  the  magical  tele 
scope  of  Prince  Ali,  in  the  "Arabian  Nights."  With  hip  glass, 
it  will  be  remembered,  he  could  see  whatever  was  happening  on 
whatever  part  of  the  earth  he  chose,  and,  though  absent,  was 
always  able  to  behold  the  face  of  his  beloved.  How  often  would 
one  give  Aladdin's  Lamp,  and  Fortunatus'  Purse,  and  the  invisi 
ble  Cap  which  was  made  of  "a  darkness  that  might  be  felt,"  to> 
possess  for  one  hour  the  Telescope  of  Fairyland! 

Could  Maitland  and  Barton  have  taken  a  peep  through  the  tube, 
while  they  were  pondering  over  the  means  of  finding  Margaret, 
their  quest  would  have  been  aided,  indeed,  but  they  would 
scarcely  have  been  reassured.  Yet  there  was  nothing  very 
awful,  nor  squalid,  nor  alarming,  as  they  might  have  expect od^ 
anticipated,  and  dreaded,  in  what  the  vision  would  have  ehowu, 


52  THE    MARK    OF    CAIN. 


THE    MARK    OF    CAIN.  53 

"There  seems  to  be  a  dreadful  quiet,  smooth,  white  place,'* 
Baid  the  girl,  slowly,  "  where  I  am;  and  something  I  feel — some 
thing.  I  don't  know  what — drives  me  out  of  it.  I  cannot  rest  in 
it;  and  then  I  find  myself  on  a  dark  plain,  and  a  great  black 
horror,  a  kind  of  blackness  falling  in  drifts,  like  black  snow  in  a 
wind,  sweeps  softly  over  me,  till  I  feel  mixed  in  the  blackness; 
and  there  is  always  some  one  watching  me,  and  chasing  mo  in 
the  dark — some  one  I  can't  see.  Then  I  slide  into  the  smooth, 
white,  horrible  place  again,  and  feel  I  must  get  away  from  it! 
Oh,  I  don't  know  which  is  worst!  And  they  go  and  come  all 
the  while  I'm  asleep,  I  suppose." 

"  I  am  waiting  for  the  doctor  to  look  in  again;  but  all  Jean 
do  is  to  get  you  some  Jaffa  oranges;  nice  large  ones,  myself. 
You  will  oblige  me,  Mrs.  Darling  "  (he  turned  to  the  housekeeper), 
"  by  placing  them  in  Miss  Burnside's  room,  and  then,  perhaps, 
she  will  find  them  refreshing  when  she  wakes.  Good-bye  for 
the  moment,  Margaret." 

The  fair  woman  said  nothing,  and  the  dark  gentleman  walked 
into  the  street,  where  a  hansom  cab  waited  for  him.  "  Co  vent 
Garden,"  he  cried  to  the  cabman. 

We  have  not  for  some  time  seen,  or  rather  we  have  for  some 
time  made  believe  not  to  recognize,  the  Honorable  Thomas  Gran- 
ley,  whose  acquaintance  (a  very  compromising  one)  we  achieved 
early  in  this  narrative. 

Mr.  Cranley,  "with  his  own  substantial  private  purpose  sun- 
clear  before  him  "  (as  Mr.  Carlyle  would  have  said,  in  apologiz 
ing  for  some  more  celebrated  villain),  had  enticed  Margaret  from 
school.  Nor  had  this  been,  to  a  person  of  his  experience  and  re 
sources,  a  feat  of  very  great  difficulty.  When  he  had  once 
learned,  by  the  simplest  and  readiest  means,  the  nature  of  Mait- 
land's  telegram  to  Miss  Marlett,  his  course  had  been  clear. 

The  telegram  which  followed  Maitland's,  and  in  which  Cranley 
used  Maitland's  name,  had  entirely  deceived  Miss  Marlett,  as  we 
have  seen.  By  the  most  obvious  ruses  he  had  prevented  Mail- 
land  from  following  his  track  to  London.  His  housekeeper 
had  entered  the  "engaged"  carriage  at  Westbourne  Park,  and 
shared,  as  far  as  the  terminus,  the  compartment  previously 
occupied  by  himself  and  Margaret  alone.  Between  West- 
bourne  Park  and  Paddington  he  had  packed  the  notable  bear- 
skin  coat  in  his  portmanteau.  The  consequence  was,  that  o.t 
Paddington  no  one  noticed  a  gentleman  in  a  bearskin  coat, 
traveling  alone  with  a  young  lady.  A  gentleman  in  a  light 
ulster,  traveling  with  two  ladies,  by  no  means  answered  to 
the  description  Maitland  gave  in  his  examination  of  the  porters. 
They,  moreover,  had  paid  but  a  divided  attention  to  Maitland's 
inquiries. 

The  success  of  Cranley 's  device  was  secured  by  its  elexnertary 
simplicity.  A  gentleman  who,  for  any  reason,  wishes  to  ob 
literate  his  trail,  does  wisely  to  wear  some  very  notable,  con- 
epicuGus,  unmistakable  garb  at  one  point  of  his  progress.  Ke 
tnen  becomes,  in  the  minds  of  most  who  see  him,  "  the  man  in 
the  bearskin  coat,"  or  "  the  man  in  the  jack-boots,"  or  "  the  man 
with  the  white  hat."  His  identity  is  practically  merged  iu  that 


54  THE    MARK    OF    CAIN. 

of  the  eoat,  or  the  boots,  or  the  hat;  and  when  be  slips  aut  of 
them,  he  seems  to  leave  his  personality  behind,  or  to  pack  it  up 
in  his  portmanteau,  or  with  his  rugs.  By  acting  on  this  prin 
ciple  (which  only  requires  to  be  stated  to  win  the  assent  of  pure 
reason),  Mr.  Cranley  had  successfully  lost  himself  and  Margaret 
in  London. 

With  Margaret  his  task  had  been  less  difficult  than  it  looked.  ! 
She  recognized  him  as  an  acquaintance  of  her  father's,  and  he  j 
represented  to  her  that  he  had^  been  an  officer  of  the  man-of-war  i 
in  which  her  father  had  served:  that  he  had  lately  encountered  { 
her  father,  and  pitied  his  poverty— in  poor  Shields  an  irremedia-  j 
ble  condition.    The  father,  so  he  declared,  had  spoken  to  him.  ' 
often  and  anxiously  about  Margaret,  and  with  dislike  and  dis 
trust  about  Maitland.    According  to  Mr.  Cranley,  Shields'  chief 
desire  in  life  had  been  to  see  Margaret  entirely  free  from  Mait- 
land's  guardianship.    But  he  had  been  conscious  that  to  take  the 
girl  nway  from  school  would    be  harmful  to  her  prospects. 
Finally,  with  his  latest  breath,  so  Mr.  Cranley  declared>  he  had 
commended  Margaret  to  his  old  officer,  and  had  implored  him 
to  abstract  her  from  the  charge  of  the  Fellow  of  St.  Gatien's. 

Margaret,  as  we  know,  did  not  entertain  a  very  lively  kindness 
for  Maitland,  nor  had  she  ever  heard  her  father  speak  of  that 
unlucky  young  man  with  the  respect  which  his  kindness,  his 
academic  rank,  and  his  position  in  society  deserved.  It  must  be; 
remembered  that,  concerning  the  manner  of  her  father's  death, 
she  had  shrunk  from  asking  questions.  She  knew  it  had  been 
eudden;  she  inferred  that  it  had  not  been  reputable." 

Often  had  she  dreaded  for  him  one  of  the  accidents  against 
which  Providence  does  not  invariably  protect  the  drunkard. 
Now  the  accident  had  arrived,  she  was  fain  to  be  ignorant  cf  the 
manner  of  it.  Her  new  guardian,  again,  was  obviously  a 
gentleman;  he  treated  her  with  perfect  politeness  and  respect, 
and,  from  the  evening  of  the  day  when  she  left  school,  she  had 
been  in  charge  of  that  apparently  correct  chaperon,  the  hand 
some  housekeeper  with  the  disapproving  countenance.  Mr. 
Cranley  had  even  given  up  to  her  his  own  rooms  in  Victoria 
Square,  and  had  lodged  elsewhere ;  his  exact  address  Margaret 
did  not  know.  The  only  really  delicate  point — Cranley's  as 
sumption  of  the  name  of  "  Mr.  Lithgow" — he  frankly  confessed 
to  her  as  soon  as  they  were  well  out  of  the  Dovecote.  He  rep 
resented  that,  for  the  fulfillment  of  her  father's  last  wish,  the 
ruse  of  the  telegram  and  the  assumed  name  had  been  necessary, 
though  highly  repugnant  to  the  feelings  of  an  officer  and  a 
gentleman.  Poor  Margaret  had  seen  nothing  of  gentlemen  ex 
cept  as  philanthropists,  and  (as  we  know)  philanthropists  permit 
themselves  a  license  and  discretion  not  customary  in  common 
society. 

Finally,  even  had  the  girl's  suspicions  been  awakened,  her  ill 
ness  prevented  her  from  too  closely  reviewing  the -situation. 
She  was  with  her  father's  friend,  an  older  man  by  far,  and  there 
fore  a  more  acceptable  guardian  than  Maitland.  She  was  ful 
filling  her  father's  wish,  and  hoped  soon  to  be  put  in  the  way  of 


THE    MARK    OF    CATtf  55 

Independence,  and  of  earning  her  own  livelihood;  and  independ 
ence  was  Margaret's  ideal. 

Her  father's  friend,  her  own  protector— in  that  light  shore- 
yarded  Oranley,  when  she  was  well  enough  to  think  COTIKGCI;- 
tively.  There  could  be  no  more  complete  hallucination.  Cran- 
ley  was  one  of  those  egotists  who  do  undoubtedly  exist,  but 
whose  existence,  when  they  are  discovered,  is  a  perpetual  sur 
prise  even  to  the  selfish  race  of  men.  In  him  the  instinct  of  self- 
preservation  (without  which  the  race  could  not  have  endure*!  for 
a  week)  had  remained  absolutely  unmodified,  as  it  is  modifte/i  in 
the  rest  of  us,  by  thousands  of  years  of  inherited  social  experi 
ence.  Cranley's  temper,  in  every  juncture,  was  precisely  th:it 
[of  the  first  human  being  who  ever  found  himself  and  other 
I  human  beings  struggling  in  a  flood  for  a  floating  log  that  will 
only  support  one  of  them.  Everything  must  give  way  to'hia 
desire;  he  had  literally  never  denied  himself  anything  that  he 
dared  take.  As  certainly  as  the  stone,  once  tossocl  up,  obeys  the 
only  law  it  knows,  and  falls  back  to  earth,  so  surely  Cranley 
would  obtain,  what  he  desired  (if  it  seemed  safe),  though  a 
human  life,  or  a  human  soul,  stood  between  him  and  his  pur 
pose. 

Now,  Margaret  stood,  at  this  moment,  between  him  a;3d  the 
aims  on  which  his  greed  was  desperately  bent.  It  was,  tl sere- 
fore,  necessary  that  she  should  vanish;  and  to  that  end  he  bad 
got  her  into  his  power.  Cranley's  original  idea  had  been  ths 
obvious  one  of  transporting  the  girl  to  the  Continent,  where, 
under  the  pretense  that  a  suitable  situation  of  some  kind  had 
been  found  for  her,  he  would  so  arrange  that  England  shouM 
never  see  her  more,  and  that  her  place  among  honest  women 
•should  be  lost  forever.  But  there  were  difficulties  in  tlva  way 
of  this  tempting  plan.  For  instance,  the  girl  knew  some 
French,  and  was  no  tame,  unresisting  fool;  and  then  Margaret's 
illness  hi\d  occurred,  and  caused  delay,  and  given  time  tor  re 
flection. 

"After  all,"  he  thought,  as  he  lit  his  cigar  and  examined  his 
mustache  in  the  mirror  (kindly  provided  for  that  purpose  in 
•well-appointed  hansoms)—"  after  all,  it  is  only  the  dead  who 
tell  no  tales,  and  make  no  inconvenient  claims." 

For  after  turning  over  in  his  brain  the  various  safe  and  wisy 
ways  of  "removing"  an  inconvenient  person,  o::«  dovtlii-h 
scheme  had  flashed  across  a  not  uninstrueteu  intellect  —  -i 
scheme  which  appeared  open  to  the  smallest  numberof  objec 
tions. 

"She  shall  take  a  turn  for  the  worse,"  he  thought;  •'  nr.r*  'I- 3 
doctor  will  be  an  uncommonly  clever  man,  and  particularly  v^li 
read  in  criminal  jurisprudence,  if  he  sees  anything  HUMpi.-ioj-s 
in  it." 


to  the  shop  of  an  eminent  firm  of  chemists,  again 
cab.    In  the  shop  he  asked  for  a  certain  substance,  v/hleh  it  may 
be  as  well  not  to  name,  and  got  what  he  wanted  in  a  stiiaii  v^i, 


M  THE   MARK    OF    CAIK. 

marked  POISON.  Mr.  Cranley  then  called  a  third  cab,  gave  the 
direction  of  a  surgical-instrument  maker's  (also  eminent),  and 
amused  his  leisure  during  the  drive  in  removing  the  label  from 
the  bottle.  At  the  surgical -instrument  maker's  he  complained 
of  neuralgia,  and  purchased  a  hypodermic  syringe  for  injecting 
morphine  or  some  such  anodyne  into  his  arm.  A  fourth  cab 
took  him  back  to  the  house  in  Victoria  Square,  where  he  let 
himself  in  with  a  key,  entered  the  dining-room,  and  locked  the 
door. 

Nor  was  he  satisfied  with  this  precaution.  After  aimlessly 
moving  chairs  about  for  a  few  minutes,  and  prowling  up  and 
down  the  room,  he  paused  and  listened.  What  he  heard  induced 
him  to  stuff  his  pocket-handkerchief  into  the  keyhole,  and  to 
lay  the  hearth-rug  across  the  considerable  chink  which,  as  is 
usual,  admitted  a  healthy  draught  under  the  bottom  of  the  door. 
Then  the  Honorable  Mr.  Cranley  drew  down  the  blinds,  and 
unpacked  his  various  purchases.  lie  set  them  out  on  the  table 
in  order — the  oranges,  the  vial,  and  the  hypodermic  syringe. 

Then  he  carefully  examined  the  oranges,  chose  half  a  dozen 
of  the  best,  and  laid  the  others  on  a  large  dessert  plate  in  the 
dining-room  cupboard.  One  orange  he  ate,  and  left  the  skin  oa 
a  plate  on  the  table,  in  company  with  a  biscuit  or  two. 

When  all  this  had  been  arranged  to  his  mind,  Mr.  Cranley 
chose  another  orange,  filled  a  wine-glass  with  the  liquid  in  the 
vial,  and  then  drew  off  a  quantity  in  the  little  syringe.  Then 
he  very  delicately  and  carefully  punctured  the  skin  of  one  of  the 
oranges,  and  injected  into  the  fruit  the  contents  of  the  syringe. 
This  operation  he  elaborately  completed  in  the  case  of  each  of  the 
six  chosen  oranges,  and  then  tenderly  polished  their  coats  with 
a  portion  of  the  skin  of  the  fruit  he  had  eaten.  That  portion  of 
the  skin  he  consumed  to  dust  in  the  fire;  and,  observing  that  a 
strong  odor  remained  in -the  room,  he  deliberately  turned  on  the 
unlighted  gas  for  a  few  minutes.  After  this  he  opened  the  win 
dow,  sealed  his  own  seal  in  red  wax  on  paper  a  great  many 
times,  finally  burning  the  collection,  and  lit  a  large  cigar,  which 
he  smoked  through  with  every  appearance  of  enjoyment.  While 
engaged  on  this  portion  of  his  task,  he  helped  himself  frequently 
to  sherry  from  the  glass,  first  carefully  rinsed,  into  which  he  h ap 
peared  the  liquid  from  the  now  un labeled  vial.  Lastly  he  put 
the  vial  in  his  pocket  with  the  little  syringe,  stored  the  si^J 
oranges,  wrapped  in  delicate  paper,  within  the  basket,  and  closed 
the  window. 

Next  he  unlocked  the  door,  and,  without  opening  it,  remarked, 
in  a  sweet  voice: 

*'  Now,  Alice,  you  may  come  in!" 

The  handle  turned,  and  the  housekeeper  entered. 

"How  is  Miss  Burnside?"  he  asked,  in  the  same  silvery  ac 
cents.  (He  had  told  Margaret  that  she  had  better  be  known  by 
that  name,  for  the  present  at  least.) 

"  She  is  asleep.  I  hope  she  may  never  waken.  What  do  you 
want  with  her  ?  Why  are  you  keeping  her  in  this  house  ?  What 
devil's  brew  have  you  been  making  that  smells  of  gas  and  sherry 
and  sealing-wax  r 


THE    MARK    OF    CAIN.  57 

"  My  dear  girl,"  replied  Mr.  Cranley,  "  you  put  too  many  ques 
tions  at  once.  As  to  your  first  pair  of  queries,  my  reasons  for 
tailing  care  of  Miss  Burnside  are  my  own  business,  and  do  not 
concern  you,  as  my  housekeeper.  As  to  the  '  devil's  brew,' 
which  you  indicate  in  a  style  worthy  rather  of  the  ages  of  Faith 
and  of  Alchemy,  than  of  an  epoch  of  positive  science,  did  you 
never  taste  sherry  and  sealing-wax  ?  If  you  did  not,  that  is  one 
of  the  very  few  alcoholic  combinations  in  which  you  have  never, 
to  my  knowledge,  attempted  experiments.  Is  there  any  other 
matter  on  which  I  can  enlighten  an  intelligent  and  respectful 
curiosity?" 

(      The  fair  woman's  blue  eyes  and  white  face  seemed  to  glitter 
I  with  anger,  like  a  baleful  lightning. 

1      "I  don't  understand  your  chaff,"  she  said,  with  a  few  prna- 
j  menial  epithets,  which,  in  moments  when  she  was  deeply  stirred, 
were  apt  to  decorate  her  conversation. 

"  I  grieve  to  be  obscure,"  he  answered;  "brevis  essc  Idboro, 
the  old  story.  But,  as  you  say  Miss  Burnside  is  sleeping,  and  a8, 
when  she  wakens,  she  may  be  feverish,  will  you  kindly  carry 
these  oranges,  and  leave  them  on  a  plate  by  her  bedside?  They 
are  Jaffa  oranges,  and  finer  fruit,  Alice,  my  dear,  I  have  seldom 
tasted!  After  that,  go  to  Cavendish  Square,  and  leave  this  note 
at  the  doctor's." 

"  Oh,  nothing's  too  good  for  her  /"  growled  the  jealous  woman, 
thinking  of  the  fruit;  to  which  he  replied  by  offering  her  several 
of  tho  oranges  not  used  in  his  experiment. 

Bearing  these,  she  withdrew,  throwing  a  spiteful  glance  and 
leaving  the  door  unshut,  so  that  her  master  distinctly  heard  her 
open  Margaret's  door,  come  out  again,  and  finally  leave  the 
house. 

"  Now,  I'll  give  her  a  quarter  of  an  hour  to  waken,"  said 
Mr.  Cranley,  and  he  took  from  his  pocket  a  fresh  copy  o*  the 
Times.  He  glanced  rather  anxiously  at  the  second  column  of 
the  outer  sheet.  "  Still  advertising  for  him,"  he  said  to  himself; 
and  he  then  turned  to  the  sporting  news.  His  calmness  was  ex 
traordinary,  but  natural  in  him;  for  the  reaction  of  terror  at  ths 
possible  detection  of  his  villainy  had  not  yet  come  on.  When 
lie  had  read  all  that  interested  him  in  the  Times,  he  looked 
hastily  at  his  watch. 

I      4<  Just  twenty  minutes  gone,"  he  said.     "  Time  she  wakened 
— and  tried  those  Jaffa  oranges." 

Then  he  rose,  went  up  stairs  stealthily,  paused  a  moment  op- 
;  posite  Margaret's  door,  and  entered  the  drawing-room.     Appar- 
I  ently  he  did  not  find  any  of  the  chairs  in  the  dining-room  com 
fortable  enough;  for  he  chose  a  large  and  heavy  fauteuil,  took 
it  up  in  his  arm,  and  began  to  carry  it  out.     In  the  passage,  just 
opposite  Margaret's  chamber,  he  stumbled  so  heavily  that  he 
fell,  and  the  weighty  piece  of  furniture  was  dashed  against  the 
door  of  the  sick-room,  making  a  terrible  noise.     He  picked  it  up, 
and  retired  silently  to  the  dining-room. 

"That  would  have  wakened  the  dead,"  he  whispered  to  him 
self,  "and  she  is  not  dead — yet.    She    is  certain  to  see  the 
,  and  take  one  of  them,  and  then •" 


*  THE    MARK    OF    CAIN. 

The  reflection  did  not  seem  to  relieve  him,  as  he  eatv  gnawing 
tis  mustache,  in  the  chair  he  had  brought  down  with  him.  Now 
he  deed  was  being  accomplished,  even  his  craven  heart  a\vok« 
b  a  kind  of  criminal  remorse.  Now  anxiety  for  the  issue  made 
iini  wish  the  act  undone,  or  frustrated;  now  he  asked  himself 
f  there  were  no  more  certain  and  less  perilous  way.  So  intent ; 
/as  his  eagerness  that  a  strange  kind  of  lucidity  possessed  him. 
le  felt  as  if  he  beheld  and  heard  what  was  passing  in  the 
liamber  of  sickness,  which  he  had  made  a  chamber  of  Death. 

She  has  wakened — she  has  looked  round— she  has  seen  th* 
/oisoned  fruit — she  has  blessed  him  for  his  kindness  in  bringing 
\ — she  has  tasted  the  oranges — she  has  turned  to  sleep  again — 
ind  the  unrelenting  venom  is  at  its  work! 

Oh,  strange  forces  that  are  about  us,  all  inevitably  acting, 
«ach  in  his  hour  and  his  place,  each  fulfilling  his  law  without" 
turning  aside  to  the  right  hand  or  to  the  left!  The  raindrop 
funning  down  the  pane,  the  star  revolving  round  the  sun  of  the 
furthest  undiscoverable  system,  the  grains  of  sand  sliding  from 
the  grasp,  the  poison  gnawing  and  burning  the  tissues — each 
Jeerns  to  move  in  his  inevitable  path,  obedient  to  an  unrelenting 
Kill.  Innocence,  youth,  beauty— that  will  spares  them  not. 
the  rock  falls  at  its  hour,  whoever  is  under  it.  The  deadly 
3rug  slays,  though  it  be  blended  with  the  holy  elements.  It  is 
i  will  that  moves  all  things — mens  agitat  molem;  and  yet  we 
San  make  that  will  a  slave  of  our  own,  and  turn  this  way  and 
that  the  blind,  steadfast  forces,  to  the  accomplishment  of  our 
iesires. 

It  was  not,  naturally,  with  these  transcendental  reflections 
fiiat  the  inteltect  of  Mr.  Cranley  was  at  this  moment  engaged. 
If  he  seemed  actually  to  be  present  in  Margaret's  chamber, 
hatching  every  movement  and  hearing  every  heart-beat  of  the 
girl  he  had  doomed,  his  blue  lips  and  livid  face,  from  which  he 
sept  wiping  the  cold  drops,  did  not,  therefore,  speak  of  late 
ftith,  or  the  beginning  of  remorse. 

It  was  entirely  on  his  own  security  and  chances  of  escaping 
detection  that  he  was  musing. 

"  Now  it's  done,  it  can't  be  undone,"  he  said.  "  But  is  it  so 
*ery  safe,  after  all  ?  The  stuff  is  not  beyond  analysis,  unluckily; 
>ut  it's  much  more  hard  to  detect  this  way,  mixed  with  the 
>range  juice,  than  any  other  way.  And  then  there's  all  the  hor- 
,^d  fuss  afterward.  Even  if  there  is  not  an  inquest — as,  of 
course,  there  won't  be — they'll  ask  who  the  girl  is,  what  the  devil 
she  was  doing  here.  Perhaps  they'll,  some  of  them,  recognize 
^.lice:  she  has  been  too  much  before  the  public,  confound  her. 
|t  mp»y  not  be  very  hard  to  lie  through  all  these  inquiries,  per- 
japs." 

And  then  he  looked  mechanically  at  his  cold  fingers,  and  bit 
is  thumb-nail,  and  yawned. 

44  By  gad!  I  wish  I  had  not  risked  it,"  lie  said  to  himself;  and 
&s  complexion -was  now  of  a  curious  faint  blue,  and  his  heart 
began  to  flutter  painfully  in  a  manner  not  strange  in  his  experi 
ence.  He  sunk  back  in  his  chair,  with  hie  hands  all  thriving 
and  pricking  to  the  fiBg®r-tips.  He  took  a.  large  silver  flask 


THE    MAftK    OF    CAIN.  59 

from  his  pocket,  but  he  could  scarcely  unscrew  the  stopper,  and 
had  to  manage  it  with  his  teeth.  A  long  pull  at  the  liquor  re 
stored  him,  and  he  began  his  round  of  reflections  again. 

"That  French  fellow  who  tried  it  this  way  in  Scotland  was 

found  out,"  he  said;  "and "    He  did  not  like,  even  in  his 

mind,  to  add  that  the  "  French  fellow,"  consequently,  suffered  the 
extreme  penalty  of  the  law.  "But  then  lie  was  a  fool,  and 
boasted  beforehand,  and  bungled  it  infernally.  Still,  it's  not  ab 
solutely  safe;  the  other  plan  I  thought  of  first  was  better.  By 
gad !  I  wish  I  could  be  sure  she  had  not  taken  the  stuff.  Per- 
haps  she  hasn't.  Anyway,  she  must  be  asleep  again  now;  and, 
besides,  there  are  the  other  oranges  to  be  substituted  for  those 
left  in  the  room,  if  she  has  taken  it.  I  must  go  and  see.  I  don't 
Jike  the  job." 

He  filled  his  pockets  with  five  unpoisoned  oranges,  and  tha 
•skin  of  a  sixth,  and  so  crept  upstairs.  His  situation  was.  per 
haps,  rather  novel.  With  murder  in  his  remorseless  heart,  he 
yet  hoped  against  hope,  out  of  his  very  poltroonery,  that  murder 
had  not  been  done.  At  the  giiTs  door  he  waited  and  listened, 
his  face  horribly  agitated  and  shining  wot.  All  was  silent.  His 
heart  was  sounding  hoarsely  within  him,  like  a  dry  pump;  he 
heard  it,  so  noisy  and  so  distinct  that  he  almost  feared  it  might 
wake  the  sleeper.  If  only,  after  all,  she  had  not  touched  the 
fruit! 

Then  he  took  the  door-handle  in  his  clammy  grasp;  he  had  to 
cover  it  with  a  handkerchief  to  get  a  firm  hold.  He  turned  dis 
creetly,  and  the  door  was  pushed  open  in  perfect  stillness,  ex 
cept  for  that  dreadful  husky  thumping  of  his  own  heart.  At 
this  rnc.ment  the  postman's  hard  knock  at  the  door  nearly  made 
him  cry  out  Jtloud.  Then  he  entered;  a  dreadful  visitor,  had 
any  one  seen  him.  She  did  not  see  him;  she  was  asleep,^ sound 
asleep;  in  the  dirty  brown  twilight  of  a  London  winter  day,  he 
could  make  out  that  much.  He  did  not  dare  draw  close  enough 
to  observe  her  face  minutely,  or  bend  down  and  listen  for  her 
breath.  And  the  oranges!  Eagerly  he  looked  at  them,  There 
were  only  five  of  them.  Surely— no!  a  sixth  had  fallen  on  the 
floor,  where  it  was  lying.  With  a  great  sigh  of  relief  he  picked 
up  all  the  six  oranges,  put  them  in  his  pockets,  and,  as  shrmk- 
ingly  as  he  had  come— yet  shaking  his  hand  at  the  girl,  and 
cursing  his  own  cowardice  under  his  breath — he  stole  down 
stairs,  opened  the  dining-room  door,  and  advanced  h:,to  the 
blind,  empty  dusk. 

"  Now  I'll  settle  with  you!"  came  a  voice  out  of  the  dimness; 
and  the  start  wrought  so  wildly  on  his  nerves,  excited  to  the  ut 
most  degree  as  they  were,  that  he  gave  an  inarticulate  cry  of 
alarm  and  despair.  Was  he  trapped,  and  by  whom  ? 

In  a  moment  he  saw  whence  the  voice  came.  It  was  only 
Alice  Darling,  in  bonnet  and  cloak,  and  with  a  face  Hashed 
with  something  more  than  anger,  that  stood'  before  him. 

Not  much  used  to  shame,  he  was  yet  ashamed  ot  i'us  o\v?3 
alarm,  and  tried  to  dissemble  it.  He  sat  down  at  a  writing -tabte 
facing  her,  and  merely  observed: 


«0  THE    NARK    OF    CAIN. 

"  Now  that  you  have  returned  Alice,  will  you  kindly  brmg 
lights?  I  want  to  read." 

"What  were  you  doing;  up-stairs  just  now?"  she  snarled. 
"  Why  did  you  send  me  off  to  the  doctor's,  out  of  the  way?" 

"  My  good  girl,  I  have  again  and  again  advised  you  to  turn 
that  invaluable  curiosity  of  yours — curiosity,  a  quality  which 
Mr.  Matthew  Arnold  so  justly  views  with  high  esteem — into 
•wider  and  nobler  channels.  Disdain  the  merely  personal;  accept 
the  calm  facts  of  domestic  life  as  you  find  them;  approach  the 
broader  and  less  irritating  problems  of  Sociology  (pardon  the 
term)  or  Metaphysics." 

It  was  cruel  to  see  the  enjoyment  he  got  out  of  teasing  this 
•woman  by  an  ironical  jargon  which  mystified  her  into  madness. 
This  time  he  went  too  far.  With  an  inarticulate  snarl  of  passion  ' 
she  lifted  a  knife  that  lay  on  the  dining-room  table  and  made  for 
him.  But  this  time,  being  prepared,  he  was  not  alarmed;  nay, 
he  seemed  to  take  pleasure  in  the  success  of  his  plan  of  torment 
ing.  The  heavy  escritoire  at  which  he  sat  was  a  breastwork  be 
tween  him  and  the  angry  woman,  He  coolly  opened  a  drawer, 
produced  a  revolver,  and  remarked: 

"No;  I  did  not  ask  for  the  carving-knife,  Alice.  I  asked  for 
lights;  and  you  will  be  good  enough  to  bring  them.  I  am  your 
master,  you  know,  in  every  sense  of  the  word;  and  you  are  aware 
that  you  had  better  both  hold  your  tongue  and  keep  your  hands 
off  me— and  off  drink.  Fetch  the  lamp!" 

She  left  the  room  cowed,  like  a  beaten  dog.  She  returned,  set 
the  lamp  silently  on  the  table,  and  was  gone.  Then  he  noticed 
a  letter,  which  lay  on  the  escritoire,  and  was  addressed  to  him. 
It  was  a  rather  peculiar  letter  to  look  at,  or  rather  the  envelope 
was  peculiar;  for,  though  bordered  with  heavy  black,  it  was 
stamped,  where  the  seal  should  have  been,  with  a  strange  device 
in  gold  and  colors — a  brown  bun,  in  a  glory  of  gilt  rays. 

"  Mrs.  St.  John  Deloraine,"  he  said,  taking  it  up.  "How  in 
the  world  did  she  find  me  out  ?  Well,  she  is  indeed  a  friend 
that  sticketh  closer  than  a  brother — a  deal  closer  than  Surbiton, 
anyhow." 

Lord  Surbiton  was  the  elder  brother  of  Mr.  Cranley,  and  bore 
the  second  title  of  the  family. 

"I  don't  suppose  there  is  another  woman  in  London,"  he 
thought  to  himself,  "  that  has  not  heard  all  about  the  row  at  the 
Cockpit,  and  that  would  write  to  me." 

Then  he  tore  the  chromatic  splendors  of  the  device  on  the 
envelope,  and  read  the  following  epistle: 

"  Early  English  Bunhouse,  Chelsea,  Friday. 

"  MY  DEAR  MR.  CRANLEY, — Where  are  you  hiding,  or  yacht 
ing,  you  wandering  man  ?  I  can  hear  nothing  of  you  from  any 
one — nothing  good,  and  you  know  I  never  believe  anything  else. 
Do  come  and  see  me,  at  the  old  Bunhouse  here,  and  tell  me 
about  yourself"— ("  She  has  heard,"  he  muttered) — "  and  help 
me  in  a  little  difficulty.  Our  housekeeper  (you  know  we  are 
strictly  blue  ribbon— a,  cordon  bleu,  I  call  her)  has  become  en 
gaged  to  a  plumber,  and  she  is  leaving  us.  Can  you  recommend 


THE    MARK    OF    CAIN.  61 

me  another  ?    I  know  how  interested  yon  are  (in  spite  of  your 
wicked  jokes)  in  our  little  enterprise.     And  we  also  want  a  girl, 
to  be  under  the  housekeeper,  and  keep  the  accounts.     Surely 
you  will  come  to  see  me,  whether  you  can  advise  me  or  not. 
"  Yours  very  truly, 

"  MARY  ST.  JOHN  DELORAINE." 

"  Idiot!"  murmured  Mr.  Cranley,  as  he  finished  reading  this 
document;  and  then  he  added,  "By  Jove!  it's  lucky,  too.  I'll 
put  these  two  infernal  women  off  on  her,  and  Alice  will  soon  do 
for  the  girl,  if  she  once  gets  at  the  drink.  She's  dangerous,  by 
Jove,  when  she  has  been  drinking.  Then  the  law  will  do  foi 
Alice,  and  all  will  be  plain  sailing  in  smooth  water." 

CHAPTER  IX. 

MRS.    ST.  JOHN  DELORAINE. 

ST.  JOHN  DELOKAINE,  whose  letter  to  Mrs.  Cranley  wa 
have  been  privileged  to  read,  was  no  ordinary  widow.  As  parts 
af  her  character  and  aspects  of  her  conduct  were  not  devoid  of 
the  kind  of  absurdity  which  is  caused  by  virtues  out  of  place, 
let  it  be  said  that  a  better,  or  kinder,  or  gentler,  or  merrier  soul 
than  that  of  Mrs.  St.  John  Deloraine  has  seldom  inhabited  a 
very  pleasing  and  pretty  tenement  of  clay,  and  a  house  in 
Cheyne  Walk. 

The  maiden  name  of  this  lady  was  by  no  means  so  euphonious 
«s  that  which  she  had  attained  by  marriage.  Miss  "Widdicombe, 
0f  Chipping  Carby,  in  the  county  of  Somerset,  was  a  very  lively, 
good- hearted  and  agreeable  young  woman;  but  she  was  by  no 
jnaeans  favorably  looked  on  by  the  ladies  of  the  county  families. 
:Now,  in  the  district  around  Chipping  Carby,  the  county  families 
are  very  county  indeed,  few  more  so.  There  is  in  their  demeanor 
a,  kind  of  morgue  so  funereal  and  mournful,  that  it  inevitably 
reminds  the  observer  (who  is  not  county)  of  an  edifice  in  Paris, 
designed  by  Meryon,  and  celebrated  by  Mr.  Robert  Browning. 
The  county  families  near  Chipping  Carby  are  far,  far  from  gay, 
and  what  pleasure  they  do  take,  they  take  entirely  in  the  society 
of  their  equals.  So  determined  are  they  to  drink  delight  of 
tennis  with  their  peers,  and  with  nobody  else,  that  even  the 
clergy  are  excluded,  ex-officio,  and  in  their  degrading  capacity 
of  ministers  of  religion,  from  the  County  Lawn  Tennis  Club.  As 
.  we  all  know  how  essential  young  curates  fresh  from  college  are 
to  the  very  being  of  rural  lawn-tennis,  110  finer  proof  can  be 
given  of  the  inaccessibility  of  the  county  people  around  Chip 
ping  Carby,  and  of  the  sacrifices  which  they  are  prepared  to 
make  to  their  position. 

Now,  born  in  the  very  purple,  and  indubitably  (despite  his  pro 
fession)  one  of  the  gentlest  born  of  men,  was,  some  seven  years 
ago,  a  certain  Mr.  St.  John  Deloraine.  He  held  the  sacrosanct 
position  of  a  squarson,  being  at  once  squire  and  parson  of  the 
parish  of  Little  Wentley.  At  the  head  of  the  quaint  old  village 
litreet  stands,  mirrored  in  a  moat,  girdled  by  beautiful  gardenia, 
und  shadowy  with  trees,  the  manor  house  and  parsonage  (for  it 
iis  both  in  one)  of  Wentley  Deloraine, 


«2  THE    MARK    OF    CAIN. 

To  this  desirable  home  and  opulent  share  of  earth's 
things  did  Mr.  St.  John  Deloraine  succeed  in  boyhood.  He  went 
to  Oxford,  he  traveled  a  good  deal,  lie  was  held  in  great  favor 
and  affection  by  the  county  matrons  and  the  long-nosed  young 
ladies  of  the  county.  Another,  dwelling  on  such  heights  as  he, 
might  have  become  haughty;  but  there  was  in  this  young  man 
a  cheery  naturalness  and  love  of  mirth  which  often  drove  him 
from  the  society  of  his  equals,  and  took  him  into  that  of  attor 
neys'  daughters:  Fate  drew  him  one  day  to  an  archery  meeting 
at  Chipping  Carby,  and  there  he  beheld  Miss  Widdicombe.  With 
her  he  paced  the  level  turf,  her  "points"  he  counted,  and  he 
found  that  she,  at  least,  could  appreciate  his  somewhat  apt  quo 
tation  from  "  Chastelard:" 

"  Pray  heaven,  we  make  good  ends." 

Miss  Widdicombe  did  make  good  "Ends."  She  vanquished 
Mrs.  Struggles,  the  veteran  lady  champion  of  the  shaft  and  bow, 
a  sportswoman  who  was  now  on  the  verge  of  sixty.  Why  are 
ladies,  who,  almost  professionally,  "  rejoice  in  arrows,"  like  the 
Homeric  Artemis — why  are  they  nearly  always  so  well  stricken 
in  years  ?  Was  Maid  Marion  forty  at  least  before  her  perform 
ances  obtained  for  her  a  place  in  the  well-known  band  of  Hood, 
Tuck,  Little  John  &  Co.  ? 

This,  however,  is  a  digression.  For  our  purpose  it  is  enough 
that  the  contrast  between  Miss  Widdicombe's  vivacity  and  the 
deadly  stolidity  of  the  county  families,  between  her  youth  and 
the  maturity  of  her  vanquished  competitors,  entirely  won  the 
heart  of  Mr.  St.  John  Deloraine.  He  saw — he  loved  her — he  was 
laughed  at— he  proposed — he  was  accepted — and  oh,  shame!  the 
county  had  to  accept,  more  or  less,  Miss  Widdicombe,  the  attor 
ney's  daughter,  as  chatelaine  (delightful  word,  and  dear  to  the 
author  of  "  Guy  Livingstone  ")  of  Wentley  Deloraine. 

When  the  early  death  of  her  husband  threw  Mrs.  St.  John 
Deloraine  almost  alone  on  the  world  (for  her  family  had,  natu 
rally,  been  offended  by  her  good  fortune),  she  left  the  gray  old 
squarsonage,  and  went  to  town.  In  London,  Mrs.  St.  John  De 
loraine  did  not  find  people  stiff.  With  a  good  name,  an  impul 
sive  manner,  a  kind  heart,  a  gentle  tongue,  and  plenty  of  money, 
she  was  welcome  almost  everywhere,  except  at  the  big  county 
dinners  which  the  county  people  of  her  district  give  to  each 
other  when  they  come  to  town. 

This  lady,  like  many  of  us,  had  turned  to  charity  and  philan 
thropy  in  the  earlier  days  of  her  bereavement;  but,  unlike  mosvt; 
of  usj  her  benevolence  had  not  died  out  with  the  sharpest  pang,«f 
of  her  sorrow. 

Never,  surely,  was  there  such  a  festive  philanthropist  as  Mrs- 
St.  John  Deloraine.  She  would  go  from  a  garden-party  to  *> 
mother's  meeting;  she  was  great  at  taking  children  for  a  day  in 
the  country,  and  had  the  art  of  keeping  them  amused.  She  wa* 
on  a  dozen  charitable  committees,  belonged  to  at  least  three, 
clnbs,  at  which  gentlemen  as  well  as  ladies  of  fashion  wera 
eligible,  and  where  music  and  minstrelsy  enlivened  t&««  '«*ft«5JP. 
dinner  hours. 


THE    MARK    OF    CAIN.  «& 

So  £ood  and  unsuspecting,  unluckily,  was  Mrs.  St.  John  Delo 
raine,  that,  ehe  made  bosom  friends  for  life,  and  contracted  vows 
of  eternal  sympathy,  wherever  she  went.  At  Airv  or  on  the 
Spanish  frontier,  she  has  been  seen  enjoying  herself  with  ac 
quaintances  a  little  dubious,  like  Greek  texts  which,  ;*"  not  abso 
lutely  corrupt,  yet  stand  greatly  in  need  of  explanation.  It  i» 
needless  to  say  that  gentlemen  of  fortune,  in  the  old  sense — that 
is.  gentlemen'in  quest  of  a  fortune — pursued  hotly  or  artfully 
after  Mrs.  St.  John  Deloraine.  But  as  she  never  for  a  moment 
suspected  their  wile*,  so  these  devices  were  entirely  wasted  on 
her,  and  her  least  warrantable  admirers  found  that  she  insisted 
on  accepting  them  as  endowed  with  all  the  Christian  virtues. 
Just  as  some  amateurs  of  music  are  incapable  of  conceiving  that 
there  breathes  a  man  who  has  no  joy  in  popular  concerts  (we 
shall  have  popular  conic  sections  next),  so  Mrs.  St.  John  Delo 
raine  persevered  in  crediting  all  she  met  with  a  passion  for 
virtue.  Their  speech  might  bewray  them  as  worldlings  of  the 
world,  but  she  insisted  on  interpreting  their  talk  as  a  kind  of 
harmless  levity,  as  a  mere  cynical  mask  assumed  by  a  tender 
and  pious  nature.  Thus,  no'one  ever  combined  a  delight  in  good 
works  with  a  taste  for  good  things  so  successfully  as  Mrs.  St. 
John  Deloraine. 

At  this  moment  the  lady's  "  favorite  vanity,"  in  the  matter 
of  good  works,  was  the  Bunhouse.  This  really  serviceable, 
though  quaint  institution  was  not,  in  idea,  quite  unlike  Mait- 
land's  enterprise  of  the  philanthropic  public-house,  the  Hit  or 
Miss.  In  a  slum  of  Chelsea  there  might  have  been  observed  a 
modest  place  of  entertainment,  in  the  coffee  and  bun  line,  with 
a  highly  elaborate  Chelsea  bun  painted  on  the  side.  This  pLce 
of  art,  which  gave  its  name  to  the  establishment,  was  the  work 
of  one  of  Mrs.  St.  John  Deloraine's  friends,  an  artist  of  the  high 
est  promise,  who  fell  an  early  victim  to  arrangements  in. 
haschisch  and  Irish  whisky.  In  spite  of  this  ill-omened  begin 
ning,  the  Bunhouse  did  very  useful  work.  It  was  a  kind  of  un7 
official  club  and  home,  not  for  friendly  girls,  nor  the  compara 
tively  subdued  and  domesticated  slavery  of  common  life,  but 
for  the  tameless  tribes  of  young  women  of  the  metropolis. 
Those  who  disdain  service,  who  turn  up  expressive  features  at 
sewing-machines,  and  who  decline  to  stand  perpendicularly  for 
fifteen  hours  a  day  in  shops— all  these  young  female  outlaws, 
not  professionally  vicious,  found  in  the  Bunhouse  a  kind  of  char 
itable  shelter  and  home. 

They  were  amused,  they  were  looked  after,  they  were  en 
couraged  not  to  stand  each  other  drinks,  nor  to  rival  the  pro 
fanity  of  their  brothers  and  fathers.  "  Places  "  were  found  for 
them,  in  the  rare  instances  when  they  condescended  to  "  places." 
Sometimes  they  breakfasted  at  the  Bunhouse,  sometimes  went 
there  to  supper.  Very  often  they  came  in  a  state  of  artificial 
cheerfulness,  or  ready  for  battle.  Then  there  would  arise  such 
a  disturbance  as  civilization  seldom  sees.  Not  otherwise  than 
when  boys,  having  tied  two  cats  by  the  tails,  hang  them  over 
the  handle  of  a  door— they  then  spit,  and  shriek,  and  swear, 
far  files,  ami  the  clamor  goes  up  to  heaveu;  so  did  the  street  re- 


64  THE    MARK    OF    CAIN, 

Bound  when  the  young  patrons  of  the  Bunhouse  were  in  a  war* 
like  humor.  Then  the  stern  housekeeper  would  intervene,  and 
check  these  motions  of  their  minds,  lia.ee  certamina  tanta,  turn 
ing  the  more  persistent  combatants  into  the  street.  Next  day 
Mrs.  St.  John  Deloraine  would  come  in  her  carriage,  and  try  to 
be  very  severe,  and  then  would  weep  a  little,  and  all  the  girls 
would  shed  tears,  all  would  have  a  good  cry  together,  and  finally 
the  lady  mother  (Mrs.  St.  John  Deloraine)  would  take  a  few  of 
them  for  a  drive  in  the  park.  After  that  there  would  be  peace 
for  a  while,  and  presently  disturbance  would  come  again. 

For  this  establishment  it  was  that  Mrs.  St.  John  Deloraine 
wanted  a  housekeeper  and  an  assistant.  The  former  housekeeper, 
as  we  have  been  told,  had  yielded  to  love,  "  which  subdues  the 
hearts  of  all  female  women,  even  of  the  prudent,"  according  to 
Homer,  and  was  going  to  share  the  home  and  bear  the  children 
of  a  plumber.  With  her  usual  invincible  innocence,  Mrs.  St. 
John  Deloraine  had  chosen  to  regard  the  Honorable  Thomas 
Cranley  as  a  kind  good  Christian  in  disguise,  i*nd  to  him  she  ap 
pealed  in  her  need  of  a  housekeeper  and  assistant. 

No  application  could  posibly  have  suited  that  gentleman  bet 
ter.  He  could  give  his  own  servant  an  excellent  character;  and 
if  once  she  was  left  to  herself,  to  her  passions?,  and  the  society  of 
Margaret,  that  young  lady's  earthly  existence  would  shortly 
cease  to  embarrass  Mr.  Cranley.  Probably  there  was  not  one 
other  man  among  the  motley  herds  of  Mrs.  St.  John  Deloraine's 
acquaintance  who  would  have  used  her  unsuspicious  kindness 
as  an  instrument  in  a  plot  of  any  sort.  But  Mr.  Cranley  had 
(when  there  was  no  personal  danger  to  be  run)  the  courage  of 
his  character. 

"Shall  I  go  and  lunch  with  her?"  he  asked  himself,  as  he 
twisted  her  note,  with  its  characteristic  black  border  and  device 
of  brown  and  gold.  "  I  haven't  shown  anywhere  I  was  likely 
to  meet  any  ono  I  knew,  not  since— since  I  came  back  from 
Monte  Carlo." 

Even  to  himself  ho  did  not  like  to  mention  that  affair  of  the 
Cockpit.  The  man  in  the  story  who  boasted  that  he  had  com 
mitted  every  crime  in  the  calendar  withdrew  his  large  words 
when  asked  "  if  he  had  ever  cheated  at  cards." 

"Well,"  Mr.  Cranley  went  oa,  "  I  don't  know;  I  dare  say  it's 
safe  enough.  She  does  know  some  of  those  Cockpit  fellows; 
confound  her,  she  knows  all  sorts  of  fellows.  Bat  none  of  them 
are  likely  to  be  up  so  early  in  the.  day — not  up  to  luncheon  any 
how.  She  says  " — and  he  looked  again  at  the  noto — ;'  that  she'll 
be  alone;  but  she  won't.  Every  one  she  sees  before  lunch  she 
esks  to  luncheon:  every  one  she  meets  before  diimrr  she  asks  to 
dinner.  I  wish  I  hud  her  money:  it  would  bo  simpler  and  safer 
by  a  very  long  way  than  this  kind  of  business.  There  really 
see1!*! s  iiv>  end  to  it  when  once  you  be#in.  However,  here  goes," 
said  Mr.  Cranley,  sitting  down  to  write 'a  letter  at  the  escritoire 
which  had  just  served  him  as  a  bul-.vark  and  breastwork.  ,  "  Til 
•write  and  accept.  Probably  she'll  have  no  one  with  her,  but 
some  girl  from  Chipping  (Jarby.  or  some  missionary  from  the 
Solomon  lalands  who  never  heard  of  a  heathen  like  iue." 


THE    MARK    OF    CAIN.  65 

As  9,  consequence  of  these  reflections,  Mr.  Cranley  arrived, 
when  the  clock  was  pointing  to  half -past  one,  at  Mrs.  St.  John 
Deloraine's  house  in  Cheyne  Walk.  He  had  scarcely  entered  the 
drawing-room  before  that  lady,  in  a  costume  which  agreeably 
became  her  pleasant  English  style  of  beauty,  rtishsd  into  the 
room,  tumbling  over  a  favorite  Dandie  Dinmont  terrier,  and 
holding  out  both  her  hands. 

The  terrier  howled,  and  Mrs.  St.  John  Deloraine  had  scarcely- 
grasped  the  hand  which  Mr.  Cranlay  extended  with  enthusi 
asm,  when  she  knelt  on  the  carpet  and  was  consoling  the 
Dandie. 

"  Love  in  which  thy  hound  has  part,"  quoted  Mr.  Cranley. 
And  the  lady,  rising  with  her  face  becomingly  flushed  be 
neath  her  fuzzy  brown  hair,  smiled,  and  did  not  remark  the 
sneer. 

"Thank  you  so  much  for  coming,  Mr.  Cranley,"  she  said; 
"and,  as  I  have  put  off  luncheon  till  two,  do  tell  me  that  you 
know  some  one  who  will  suit  me  for  my  dear  Bunhouse.  I 
know  how  much  you  have  always  been  interested  in  our  little 
project." 

Mr.  Cranley  assured  her  that,  by  a  remarkable  coincidence, 
he  knew  the  very  kind  of  people  she  wanted.  Alice  he  briefly 
described  as  a  respectable  woman  of  great  strength  of  character, 
"  of  body,  too,  I  believe,  which  will  not  make  her  less  fit  for  the 
position.*" 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  St.  John  Deloraine,  sadly;  "  the  dear  girls  are 
ftoraetimes  a  little  tiresome.  On  Wednesday,  Mrs.  Carter,  the 
housekeeper,  you  know,  went  to  one  of  the  exhibitions  with  her 
"fiance,  and  the  girls  broke  ail  the  windows  and  almost  all  the 
tea-things." 

"  The  woman  whom  I  am  happy  to  be  able  to  recommend  to 
you  will  not  stand  anything  of  that  kind,''  answered  Mr.  Cranley. 
"  She  is  quiet,  but  extremely  firm,  and  has  been  accustomed  to 
deal  with  a  very  desperate  character.  At  one  time,  I  mean,  she 
was  engaged  as  the  attendant  of  a  person  of  treacherous  and 
ungovernable  disposition." 

This  was  true  enough:  and  Mr.  Craniey  then  began  to  give  a 
more  or  less  fanciful  history  of  Margaret.  She  had  been  left  in 
his  charge  by  her  father,  an  early  acquaintance,  a  man  who  had 
known  better  days,  but  had  bequeathed  her  nothing,  save  an 
excellent  schooling  #nd  the  desire  to  earn  her  own  livelihood. 

So  far  he  kne\v  he  was  safe  enough;  for  Margaret  was  the  last 
girl  to  tell  the  real  tale  of  her  life,  and  her  desire  to  avoid 
Maitland  was  strong  enough  to  keep  her  silent,  even  had  she 
not  been  naturally  proud  and  indisposed  to  make  confidences. 

"  There  is  only  one  thing  I  must  ask,"  said  Mr.  Cranley,  when 
he  had  quite  persuaded  the  lady  -that  Margaret  would  set  a 
splendid  example  to  her  young  friends.  "  How  soon  does  your 
housekeeper  leave  you,  and  when  do  you  need  the  services  of 
the  new-comers  ?" 

"  Well,  the  plumber  is  rather  in  a  hurry.  He  really  is  a  good 
man,  and  Hike  him  better  for  it,  though  it  seems  rather  selfish 
of  him  to  want  to  rob  me  of  Joan,  Ho  is  determioM  to  be  max* 


36  THE   MARK    OF    CAIN. 

yied  before  next  Bank  Holiday — in  a  fortnight  that  is— and  then 
they  will  go  on  their  honeymoon  of  three  days  to  Yarmouth." 

Mr.  Cranley  blessed  the  luck  that  had  not  made  the  plumber 
a  yet  more  impetuous  wooer. 

"  No  laggard  in  love,"  he  said,  smiling.  <£  Well,  in  a  fortnight 
the  two  women  will  be  quite  ready  for  their  new  place.  But  I 
must  ask  you  to  remember  that  the  younger  is  somewhat  deli 
cate,  and  has  by  no  means  recovered  from  the  shock  of  her 
father's  sudden  death — a  very  sad  affair,"  added  Mr.  Cranley, 
in  a  sympathetic  voice. 

"  Poor  dear  girl!"  cried  Mrs,  St.  John  Deloraine,  with  the 
ready  tears  in  her  eyes;  for  this  lady  spontaneously  acted  OH 
"the  injunction  to  weep  with  those  who  weep,  and  also  laugfe 
with  those  who  laugh. 

Mr.  Granley,  who  was  beginning  to  feel  hungry,  led  he» 
thoughts  off  to  the  latest  farce  in  which  Mr.  Toole  had  amused 
the  town;  and  when  Mrs.  St.  John  Deloraine  had  giggled  till  sh* 
wept  again  over  her  memories  of  this  entertainment,  she  sud* 
<lenly  looked  at  her  watch. 

"Why,  he's  very  late,"  she  said;  ''and  yet  it  is  not  far  to 
come  from  the  Hit  or  Miss." 

"  From  the  Hit  or  Miss!"  cried  Mr.  Cranley,  much  loude* 
than  he  was  aware. 

"  Yes;  you  may  well  wonder,  if  you  don't  know  about  it,  that 
I  should  have  asked  a  gentleman  from  a  public-house  to  mee(/ 
you.  But  you  will  be  quite  in  love  with  him;  he  is  such  a  very 
good  young  man.  Not  handsome,  nor  very  amusing;  but  people 
think  a  great  deal  too  much  of  amusmgness  now.  He  is  very4 
very  good,  and  spends  almost  all  his  time  among  the  poor.  He 
is  a  Fellow  of  hi?  college  at  Oxford." 

During  this  discourse  Mr.  Cranley  was  pretending  to  play 
with  the  terrier;  but,  stoop  as  he  might,  his  face  was  livid,  anf/ 
lie  knew  it. 

"Did  I  tell  you  his  name?"  Mrs.  St.  John  Deloraine  ran  oj 
«He  is  a " 

Here  the  door  was  opened,  and  the  servant  announced  "  M* 
Maitland." 

When  Mrs.  St.  John  Deloraine  /lad  welcomed  her  new  guest, 
she  turned,  and  found  that  Mr.  Cranley  was  looking  out  of  tb» 
window. 

His  position  was  indeed  agonizing,  and,  in  the  circumstances 
a  stronger  heart  might  have  blanched  at  the  encounter. 
\  When  Cranley  last  met  Maitland,  he  had  been  the  guest  of 
that  philanthropist,  and  he  had  gone  from  his  table  to  swindle 
his  fellow-revelers.  What  other  things  he  had  done — things  in 
which  Maitland  was  concerned — the  reader  knows,  or  at  leas* 
suspects.  But  it  was  not  these  deeds  which  troubled  Mr.  Cranley, 
for  these  he  knew  were  undetected.  It  was  that  affair  of  tiw 
baccarat  which  unmanned  him. 

There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  face  Maitland  and  the  sitiii- 

on. 

"  Let  me  introduce  you "  said  Mrs,  St.  John  Deloraine. 

"  There  is  no  need."  interrupted  Maitlandr     "  Mr.  Crtuiie/ 


THE    MARK    OF    CAIN. 

f  have  known  each  other  for  some  time.     I  don't  think  we 
met,"  he  added,  looking  at  Cranley,  "since  you  dined  with  mi. 
at  the  Olympic,  and  we  are  not  likely  to  meet  again,  I'm  afraid; 
for  to-moVrow,  as  I  have  come  to  tell  Mrs.  St.  John  Deloraine,  £.". 
go  to  Paris  on  business  of  importance." 

Mr.  Cranley  breathed  again;  it  was  obvious  that  Haitian^  . 
living  out  of  the  world  as  he  did,  and  concerned  (as  Cranlej; 
well  knew  him  to  be)  with  private  affairs  of  an  urgent  charapT, 
ter,  had  never  been  told  of  the  trouble  at  the  Cockpit,  or  hud,  ii^  ' 
his  absent  fashion,  never  attended  to  what  he  might  have  hear<@ 
with  the  hearing  of  the  ear.    As  to  Paris,  he  had  the  best  rca* 
son  for  guessing  why  Maitland  was  bound  thither,  as  he  was  thi*  ' 
secret  source  of  the  information  on  which  Maitland  proposed  t*v 
act. 

At  luncheon — which,  like  the  dinner  described  by  the  Ameri 
can  guest,  was  "  luscious  and  abundant " — Mr.  Cranley  was  nior^ 
sparkling  than  the  champagne,  and  made  even  Maitland  laugh- 
He  recounted  little  philanthropic  misadventures  of  his  own — casee 
in  which  he  had  been  humorously  misled  by  the  Captain  Wragg*1 
of  this  world,  or  beguiled  by  the  authors  of  that  polite  corr^ 
spondence — begging  letters. 

When  luncheon  was  over,  and  when  Maitland  was  obliged^ 
reluctantly,  to  go  (for  he  liked  Mrs.  St.  John  Deloraine's  conr 
pany  very  much),  Cranley,  who  had  determined  to  see  him  ouf 
shook  hands  in  a  very  cordial  way  with  the  Fellow  of  S* 
Gatien's. 

"  And  when  are  we  likely  to  meet  again  ?"  he  asked. 

"I  really  don't  know,'' said  Maitland.  "  I  have  business  i^ 
Paris,  and  I  cannot  say  how  long  I  may  be  detained  on  the  Coir 
tinent/' 

"No  more  can  I,"  said  Mr.  Cranley  to  himself;  "  but  I  hop** 
you  won't  return  in  time  to  bother  me  with  your  blundering  i» 
quiries,  if  *ver  you  have  the  luck  to  return  at  all." 

But  while  he  said  this  to  himself,  to  Maitland  he  only  wisbeA 
a  good  voyage,  and  particularly  recommended  to  him  a  comedy 
(and  a  comedienne)  at  the  Palais  Royal. 


CHAPTER  X. 

TRAPS. 

THE  day  before  the  encounter  with  Mr.  Cranley  at  the  housr 
of  the  lady  of  the  Bunhouse,  Barton,  when  he  came  home  froi* 
a  round  of  professional  visits,  had  found  Maitland  waiting  ir...  hf' 
chill,  unlighted  lodging.1*.     Of  late,  Maitland  had  got  into  tl?' 
habit  of  loitering  there,  discussing  and  discussing  all  the  myr 
teries  which  made  him  feel  that  he  was  indeed  "moving  nboi*' 
in  worlds  not  realized."    Keen  as  was  the  interest  which  Bar 
ton  took  in  the  labyrinth  of  his  friend's  affairs,  he  now  and .r.gain 
wearied  of  Maitland,  and  of  a  conversation  that  ever  revolved 
round  the  same  fixed  but  otherwise  uncertain  points. 

"Hullo,  Maitland;  glad  to  see  yon,"  he  observed,  with 
shade  of  hypocrisy.    ' '  AnTtiiiiur  new  to-day  'f*. 


«8  THE    MARK    OF    CAIN. 

"  Yes,"  said  Maitland;  "  I  really  do  think  I  have  a  clew  at 
last." 

"Well,  wait  a  bit  till  they  bring  the  candles,"  said  Barton, 
groaning  as  the  bell-rope  came  away  in  his  hands.  "  Bring 
lights,  please,  and  tea,  and  stir  up  the  fire,  Jemima,  my  friend, w 
he  remarked,  when  the  blackened  but  alert  face  of  the  little 
slavey  appeared  at  the  door. 

"  Yes,  Dr.  Barton,  in  a  minute,  sir,"  answered  Jemima,  who 
greatly  admired  the  doctor,  and  in  ten  minutes  the  dismal  lodg- 
ings  looked  almost  comfortable. 

"  Now  for  your  clew,  old  man,"  exclaimed  Barton,  as  he 
handed  Maitland  a  cup  of  his  peculiar  mixture,  very  weak,  with 
plenty  of  milk  and  no  sugar.  "  Oh,  Ariadne,  what  a  boon  thai; 
clew  of  yours  has  been  to  the  detective  mind!  To  think  that, 
without  the  Minotaur,  the  police  "would  probably  never  have  hit 
on  that  invaluable  expression,  '  the  police  have  a  clew.'  " 

Maitland  thought  this  was  trifling  with  the  subject. 

"  This  advertisement,"  he  said,  gravely,  "  appears  to  me  un« 
doubtedly  to  refer  to  the  miscreant  who  carried  off  Margaret, 
poor  girl." 

"Does  it,  by  Jove?"  cried  Barton,  with  some  eagerness  this 
time.  "  Let's  have  a  look  at  it." 

This  was  what  he  read  aloud: 

"  BEARSKIN  COAT, — The  gentleman  traveling  with  a  young 
lady,  who,  on  Feb.  19th,  left  a  bearskin  coat  at  the  Hotel  Alsace 
and  Lorraine,  Avenue  de  1'Opera,  Paris,  is  requested  to  remove 
it,  or  it  will  be  sold  to  defray  expenses.  DUPIN." 

"  This  may  mean  business,"  he  said,  "  or  it  may  not.  In  the 
first  place,  is  there  such  an  hotel  in  Paris  as  the  Alsace  et  Lor 
raine  ?  and  is  Monsieur  Dupin  the  proprietor  ?" 

"  That's  &]\  right,"  said  Maitland.  "I  went  at  once  to  the 
club,  and  looked  up  the  Bottin,  the  Paris  Directory,  don't  you 
know." 

"  So  far,  so  good;  and  yet  I  don't  quite  see  what  you  can  make 
of  it.  It  does  not  come  to  much,  you  know,  even  if  the  owner 
of  the  coat  is  the  man  you  want.  And  again,  is  he  likely  to 
have  left  such  a  very  notable  article  of  dress  behind  him  in  an, 
hotel  ?  Anyway,  can't  you  send  some  detective  fellow  ?  Are 
you  going  over  yourself 'in  this  awful  weather  ?" 

So  Barton  argued,  but  Maitland  was  not  to  be  easily  put  off 
the  hopeful  scent. 

"  Why,  don't  you  see,"  he  exclaimed,  "the  people  at  the  hotel 
will  at  least  be  able  to  give  one  a  fuller  description  of  the  man 
than  anything  we  have  yet.  And  they  may  have  some  idea  of 
where  he  has  gone  to;  and,  at  least,  they  will  have  noticed  how 
he  was  treating  Margaret,  and  that,  of  course,  is  what  I  am 
most  anxious  to  learn.  Again,  he  may  have  left  other  things 
besides  the  coat,  or  there  may  be  documents  in  the  pockets.  I 
have  read  of  such  things  happening." 

"  Yes,  in   '  Le  Crime  de  1'Opera;'  and  a  very  good  story,  too,'* 

thfi  inrrp.dnlmis   Rartr.n-  "  hut    T    don'*:   f:i,nr,v  that  th.e 


THE    MARK    OF    CAIN.  <$ 

villain  of  real  life  is  quite  so  innocent  and  careless  as  the  monster 
of  fiction." 

"  Every  one  knows  that  murderers  are  generally  detected 
through  some  incredible  piece  of  carelessness,"  said  Maitland: 
"  and  why  should  this  elaborate  scoundrel  be  more  fortunate  than, 
the  rest  ?  If  he  did  leave  the  coat,  he  will  scarcely  care  to  go 
back  for  it:  and  I  do  not  think  the  chance  should  be  lost,  even 
if  it  is  a  poor  one.  Besides,  I'm  doing  no  good  here,  and  I  can 
do  no  harm  there." 

This  was  undeniably  true;  and  though  Barton  muttered  some 
thing  about  "  a  false  scent,"  he  no  longer  attempted  to  turn  Mait 
land  from  his  purpose.  He  did,  however,  with  some  difficulty, 
prevent  the  Fellow  of  St.  Gatien's  from  purchasing  a  blonde 
beard,  one  of  those  wigs  which  simulate  baldness,  and  a  pair  of 
blue  spectacles.  In  these  disguises,  Maitland  argued,  he  would 
certainly  avoid  recognition,  and  so  discomfit  any  mischief  planned. 
by  the  enemies  of  Margaret. 

"  Yes;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  you  would  look  exactly  like  a 
German  professor,  and  probably  be  taken  for  a  spy  of  Bis 
marck's,''  said  Barton. 

And  Maitland  reluctantly  gave  up  the  idea  of  disguise.  He 
retained,  however,  certain  astute  notions  of  his  own  about  his 
plan  of  operations,  and  these,  unfortunately,  he  did  not  com 
municate  to  his  friend.  The  fact  is,  that  the  long  dormant  ro 
mance  of  Maitland's  character  was  now  thoroughly  awake,  and 
he  began,  unconsciously,  to  enjoy  the  adventure. 

His  enjoyment  did  not  last  very  long.  The  usual  troubles  of 
a  winter  voyage,  acting  on  a  dilapidated  digestive  system,  were 
not  spared  the  guardian  of  Margaret.  But  everything — even  a 
period  of  waiting  at  the  Paris  salle  cCattente,  and  a  struggle  with 
the  cockers  at  the  station  (who,  for  some  reason,  always  "decline 
to  take  a  fare) — must  come  to  an  end  at  last.  About  dinner 
time,  Maitland  was  jolted  through  the  glare  of  the  Parisian 
streets,  to  the  Avenue  de  1'Opera.  At  the  Hotel  Alsace  et  Lor 
raine  he  determined  not  to  betray  himself  by  too  precipitate 
eagerness.  In  the  first  place,  he  wrote  an  assumed  name  in  the 
hotel  book,  choosing,  by  an  unlucky  inspiration,  the  pseudonym 
of  Buchanan.  He  then  ordered  dinner  in  the  hotel,  and,  by 
way  of  propitiation,  it  was  a  much  better  dinner  than  usual  that 
Maitland  ordered.  Bottles  of  the  higher  Bordeaux  wines,  re 
posing  in  beautiful  baskets  were  brought  at  his  command;  for 
he  was  determined  favorably  to  impress  the  people  of  the  house. 

His  conduct  in  this  matter  was  partly  determined  by  the  fact 
that,  for  the  moment,  the  English  were  not  popular  in  Paris, 

In  fact,  as  the  French  newspapers  declared,  with  more  truth 
than  they  suspected,  "  Paris  was  not  the  place  for  English  peo 
ple,  especially  for  English  women." 

In  these  international  circumstances,  then,  Maitland  believed 
he  showed  the  wisdom  of  the  serpent  when  he  ordered  dinner  in 
the  fearless  old  fashion  attributed  by  tradition  to  milords  of  the 
past.  But  he  had  reckoned  without  his  appetite. 

A  consequence  of  sea-travel,  neither  uncommon  nor  alarming, 
*  '  away  all  desire  to  eat  and  drink.  As  the  waiter 


70  THE    MARK    OF    CAIN", 

carried  of  the  untouched  hors  d'ozuvres  (whereof  Maitland  only 
nibbled  the  delicious  bread  and  butter);  as  he  bore  away  the 
huitres,  undiminiBhed  in  number;  as  the  bisque  proved  too  much 
for  the  guest  of  the  evening;  as  he  faltered  over  the  soles,  and 


fine  champagne, 
tenance  assumed"  an  air  of  owl-like  sagacity.  There  was  some-  \ 
thing  wrong,  the  gar  con  felt  sure,  about  a  man  who  could  order  • 
a  dinner  like  Maitland's,  and  then  decline  to  partake  thereof.  ' 
However,  even  in  a  republican  country,  you  can  hardly  arrest  a 
man  merely  because  his  intentions  are  better  than  his  appetite.  ] 
The  waiter,  therefore,  contented  himself  with  assuming  an  im-  ] 
posing  attitude,  and  whispering  something  to  the  hall  porter.  j 

The  Fellow  of  St.  Gatien's,  having  dined  with  the  Barmecide 
regardless  of  expense,  went  on  (as  he  hoped)  to  ingratiate  him 
self  with  the  concierge.  From  that  official  he  purchased  two 
large  cigars,  which  he  did  not  dream  of  attempting  to  enjoy; 
and  he  then  endeavored  to  enter  into  conversation,  selecting  for 
a  topic  the  state  of  the  contemporary  drama.  What  would 
monsieur  advise  him  to  go  to  see  ?  Where  was  Mademoiselle 
Jane  Hading  playing  ? 

Having  in  this  conversation  broken  the  ice  (and  almost  every 
rule  of  French  grammar),  Maitland  began  to  lead  up  craftily  to 
the  great  matter— the  affair  of  the  bearskin  coat.  Did  many 
English  use  the  hotel  ?  Had  any  of  his  countrymen  been  there 
lately  ?  He  remembered  that  when  he  left  England  a  friend  of 
his  had  asked  him  to  inquire  about  an  article  of  dress — a  great v 
coat— which  he  had  left  somewhere,  perhaps  in  a  cab.  Could 
monsieur,  the  porter,  tell  him  where  he  ought  to  apply  for  news, 
about  the  garment,  a  coat  in  peau  (fours  V 

On  the  mention  of  this  raiment  a  clerkly-looking  man.  who 
had  been  loitering  in  the  office  of  the  concierge,  moved  to  the 
neighborhood  of  the  door,  where  he  occupied  himself  in  study  of 
a  railway  map  hanging  on  the  wall. 

The  porter  now  was  all  smiles.  But,  certainly!  Monsieur  had  . 
fallen  well  in  coming  to  him.  Monsieur  wanted  a  lost  coat  in.  I 
skin  of  the  bear  ?  It  had  been  lost  by  a  compatriot  of  mon-  J 
sieur's  ?  Would  monsieur  give  himself  the  trouble  to  follow  the  1 
porter  to  the  room  where  lost  baggage  was  kept? 

Maitland,  full  of  excitement,  and  of  belief  that  he  now  really  * 
was  on  the  trail,  followed  the  porter,  and  the  clerkly  man  (rut her. 
a  libertj',  thought  Maitland),  followed  him. 

The  porter  led  them  to  a  door  marked  **  private,"  and  they  all 
thn-e  entered. 

The  clerkly-looking  person  now  courteously  motioned  Malt- 
laud  to  take  a  chair. 

The  Englishman  sat  down  in  some  surprise. 

**  Where."  he  asked,  "  was  the  bearskin  coab 

"  Would  monsieur  first  deign  to  answer  a  few  inquiries?  Was 
the  coat  his  own,  or  a  friend'.*;?" 

**  A  friend's/''  said  Maitlarui,  and  than,  beginning  to  hesitate. 


THE   MARK    OF    CAIK  ft 

admitted  that  the  garment  only  belonged  to  "  a  man  he  knew 
something  about." 

"  What  is  his  name?"  asked  the  clerkly  man,  who  was  taking 
notes. 

His  name,  indeed!    If  Maitland  only  knew  that!    His  French 

now  began  to  grow  worse  and  worse  in  proportion  to  his  flurry, 

*       Weli.  he  explained,  it  was  very  unlucky  but  he  did  not  exactly 

remember  the  man's  name.     It  was  quite  a  common  name.     He 

had  met  him  for  the  first  time  on  board  the  steamer;  but  the 

il  man  was  going  to  Brussels,  and,  finding  that  Maitland  was  on 

!J  his  way  to  Paris,  had  asked  him  to  make  inquiries. 

Here'  the  clerkly  person,  laying  down  his  notes,  asked  if  En 
s'  glish  gentlemen  usually  spoke  of  persons  whom  they  had  just 
met  for  the  first  time  on  board  the  steamer  as  their  friends? 

Maitland,  at  this,  lost  his  temper,  and  observed  that,  as  they 
seemed  disposed  to  give  him  more  trouble  than  information,  he 
would-go  and  see  the  play. 

Hereupon  the  clerkly  person  requested  monsieur  to  remember, 
in  his  deportment,  what  was  due  to  Justice;  and  when  Maitland 
rose,  in  a  stately  way,  to  leave  the  room,  he  also  rose  and  stood 
in  front  of  the  door. 

However  little  of  human  nature  an  Englishman  may  possess, 
he  is  rarely  unmoved  by  this  kind  of  treatment.  Maitland  took 
the  man  by  the  collar,  sans  phrase,  and  spun  him  round,  amid 
the  horrified  clamor  of  the  porter.  But  the  man,  without  any 
passion,  merely  produced  and  displayed  a  card,  containing  a 
voucher  that  he  belonged  to  the  secret  police,  and  calmly  asked 
Maitland  for  "  his  papers." 

Haiti  and  had  no  papers.  He  had  understood  that  passports 
were  no  longer  required. 

The  detective  assured  him  that  passports  "spoil  nothing.1' 
Had  monnieur  nothing  stating  his  identity?  Maitland,  entirely 
forgetting  that  he  had  artfully  entered  his  name  as  "  Buchanan  '* 
on  the  hotel  book,  produced  his  card,  on  the  lower  corner  of 
which  was  printed,  St.  Gatien's  College.  This  address  puzzled 
the  detective  a  good  deal,  while  the  change  of  name  did  not 
allay  his  suspicions,  and  he  ended  by  requesting  Maitland  to  ac 
company  him  into  the  presence  of  Justice. 

As  there  waa  no  choice,  Maitland  obtained  leave  to  put  some 
linen  in  his  traveling-bag,  and  was  carried  off  to  what  we  should 
call  the  nearest  police-station.  Here  he  was  received  in  a  chili 
j  bleak  room  by  a  formal  man,  wearing  a  decoration,  who  (after 
;  some  private  talk  with  the  detective)  asked  Maitland  to  explain 
his  whole  conduct  in  the  matter  of  the  coat.  In  the  first  place, 
the  detective's  notes  en  their  conversation  were  read  aloud,  and 
it  was  shown  that  Maitland  had  given  a  false  name;  had  orig* 
inally  spoken  of  the  object  of  his  quest  as  "  the  coat  of  a  friend;*1 
then  "  as  the  coat  of  a  man  whom  he  knew  something  about;'* 
then  as  "  the  coat  of  a  man  whose  name  he  did  not  know;"  and 
that,  finally,  he  had  attempted  to  go  away  without  offering  any 
satisfactory  account  of  himself. 

All  this  the  philanthropist  was  constrained  to  admit;  but  he 
was,  not  unnaturally,  Quite  unable  to  submit  any  explanation  of 


«?2  THE    MARK    OF    C.47M 

his  proceedings.  What  chiefly  discomfited  him  was  the  fact 
that  his  proceedings  were  a  matter  of  interest  and  observation. 
Why,  he  "kept  wondering,  was  all  this  fuss  made  about  a  coal 
which  had,  or  had  not,  been  left  by  a  traveler  at  the- hotel'?  It 
was  perfectly  plain  that  the  hotel  was  used  as  a  souriciere,  as  tlia 
police  say,  as  a  trap  in  which  all  inquirers  after  the  coat  eoulidl 
be  captured.  Now,  if  he  had  been  given  time  (and  a  French  dic 
tionary),  Maitland  might  have  set  before  the  commissaire  of  I 
police  the  whole  story  of  his  troubles. 

He  might  have  begun  with  the  discovery  of  Shields'  body  in 
the  snow;  he  might  have  gone  on  to  Margaret's  disappearance 
(enlevement),  and  to  a  description  of  the  costume  (bearskin  coat 
and  all)  of  the  villain  who  had  carried  her  away.    Then  he 
might  have  described  his  relations  with  Margaret,  the  necessity  f 
of  finding  her,  the  clew  offered  by  the  advertisement  in  the 
Times,  and  his  own  too  subtle  and  ingenious  attempt  to  follow 
up  that  clew.     But  it  is  improbable  that  this  narrative,  had 
Maitland  told  it  ever  so  movingly,  would  have  entirely  satisfied    i 
the  suspicions  of  the  comtnissaire  of  police.     It  might  even   \ 
have  prejudiced  that  official  a.gainst  Maitland.     Moreover,  the    \ 
Fellow  of  St.  Gatien's  had  neither  the  presence  of  mind  nor  the    ;; 
linguistic  resources  necessary  to  relate  the  whole  plot  and  sub-  | 
stance  of  this  narrative,  at  a  moment's  notice,  in  a  cold  police-   I 
office,  to  a  skeptical  alien.     He  therefore  fell  back  on  a  demand    ] 
to  be  allowed  to  communicate  with  the  English  embassador;  and    • 
that  night  Maitland  of  Gatien's  passed,  for  the  first  time  during    ^ 
his  blameless  career,  in  a  police-cell. 

It  were  superfluous  to  set  down  in  detail  all  the  humiliations 
endured  by  Maitland.     Do  not  the  newspapers  continually  ring 
with  the  laments  of  the  British  citizen  who  has  fallen  into  the    \ 
hands  of  Continental  justice?    Are  not  our  countrymen  the   •; 
common  butts  of   German,  French,  Spanish,  and  even  Greek 
and  Portuguese  Jacks  in  office  ?    When  an  Englishman  appears, 
do  not  the  foreign  police  usually  arrest  him  at  a  venture,  and 
inquire  afterward  ? 

Maitland  had,  with  the  best  intentions,  done  a  good  deal  more 
than  most  of  these  innocents  to  deserve  incarceration.  His  con 
duct,  as  the  juge  d'instruction  told  him,  without  mincing  mat 
ters,  was  undeniably  louche. 

In  the  first  place,  the  suspicions  of  Monsieur  Dupin,  of  the 
Hotel  Alsace  et  Lorraine,  had  been  very  naturally  excited  by 
seeing  the  advertisement  about  the  great-coat  in  the  Times,  for  I 
he  made  a  study  of  "  the  journal  of  the  City." 

Here  was  a  notice  purporting  to  be  signed  by  himself,  and  re-  I 
f erring  to  a  bearskin  coat,  said  (quite  untruly) V>  have  been  left 
in  his  own  hotel.  A  bearskin  coat!  The  very  words  breathe  of 
Nihilism,  dynamite,  stratagems,  and  spoils.  Then  the  advertise 
ment  was  in  English,  which  is,  at  present  and  till  further  notice, 
the  language  spoken  by  the  brave  Irish.  Monsieur  Dupin,  as  a 
Liberal,  had  every  sympathy  with  the  brave  Irish  in  their  noble 
Btruggle  for  whatever  they  are  struggling  for;  but  he  did  nofc 
wish  his  hostelry  to  become,  so  to  speak,  the  mountain-cave  of 
and  the  great  secret  storehouse  of  nitre-glycerine. 


TEE    MARK    OF    CAIN.  TO 

With  a  view  of  elucidating  the  mystery  of  the  advertisement, 
he  had  introduced  the  police  on  his  premises,  and  the  police  had 
hardly  settled  down  in  its  affui.  when,  lo!  a  stranger  lia-1  been 
captured,  in  most  suspicious  circumstances.  Monsieur  Dupin 
felt  very  clever  indeed,  and  his  friends  envied  him  the  distinc 
tion  and  advertisement  which  were  soon  to  be  his. 

When  Maitland  appeared,  as  he  did  in  due  course,  before  ths 
juge  d'instruction,  he  attempted  to  fall  back  011  the  obsolete 
Civis  Romanus  sum  !  He  was  an  English  citizen.  He  had  writ 
ten  to  the  English  embassador,  or  rather  to  an  old  St.  Gatien's 
man,  an  attache  of  the  embassy,  whom  he  luckily  happened  to 
know.  But  this  great  ally  chanced  to  be  out  of  town,  and  his 
name  availed  Maitland  nothing  in  his  interview  with  the  juge 
d'instruction.  That  magistrate,  sitting  with  his  back  to  the 
light,  gazed  at  Maitland  with  steady,  small,  gray  eyes,  while 
the  scribble  of  the  pen  of  the  grejjier,  as  he  took  down  the  En 
glish  man's  deposition,  sounded  shriU  in  the  bleak  torture-chamber 
of  the  law. 

*'  Your  name?"  asked  the  juge  d'instruction. 

"  Maitland,"  replied  the  Fellow  of  St.  Gatien's. 

"  You  lie!"  said  the  juge  d'instructio*.  "  You  entered  the 
name  of  Buchanan  in  the  book  of  the  hotel." 

"  My  name  is  on  my  cards,  and  on  that  letter,"  said  Maitland, 
Keeping  his  temper  wonderfully. 

The  documents  in  question  lay  on  a  table,  as  pieces  justified* 
tives. 

"  These  cards,  that  letter,  you  have  robbed  them  from  some 
unfortunate  person,  and  have  draped  (affluble),  yourself  in  the 
trappings  of  your  victim !  Where  is  his  body  ?" 

This  was  the  working  hypothesis  which  the  juge  d'instruc 
tion  had  formed  within  himself  to  account  for  the  general  con 
duct  and  proceedings  of  the  person  under  examination. 

"  Where  is  whose  body  ?"  asked  Maitland,  in  unspeakable  sur 
prise." 

"  Buchanan,"  said  the  juge  d'instruction.  (And  to  hear  the 
gallantry  with  which  he  attacked  this  difficult  name,  of  itself 
insured  respect.)  "Buchanan,  you  are  acting  on  a  deplorable 
system.  Justice  is  not  deceived"  by  your  falsehood,  nor  eluded 
by  your  subterfuges.  She  is  calm,  stern,  but  merciful.  Un 
bosom  yourself  freely "  (repandez franchement),  "and  you  may 
learn  that  justice  can  be  lenient.  It  is  your  interest  to  be  frank." 
{II  est  de  votre  interet  d'etre  franc*) 

"But  what  do  you  want  me  to  say?"  asked  the  prevenu. 
34  What  is  all  this  pother  about  a  great-coat  r"  (Tant  de  fraca* 
pour  un  paletot  ?) 

Maitland  was  rather  proud  of  this  sentence. 

**  It  is  the  part  of  Justice  to  ask  questions,  not  to  answer 
them,"  said  the  juge  d'instruction.  "  Levity  will  avail  you 
nothing.  Tell  me,  Buchanan,  why  did  you  ask  for  the  coat  lU 
the  Hotel  Alsace  et  Lorraine  ?" 

"In  answer  to  that  advertisement  in  the  Times." 

"  That  is  false;  you  yourself  inserted  the  advertisement.    Butj 


74  THE   MARK    OF    CAI17. 

on  your  own  system,  bad  as  it  is,  what  did  you  want  with  the 


"  It  belonged  to  a  man  who  had  done  me  an  ill-turn.* 

"  His  name  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know  his  name;  that  is  just  what  I  wanted  to  find 
out.  I  might  have  found  his  tailor's  name  on  the  coat,  and  then 
have  discovered  for  whom  the  coat  was  made." 

"  You  are  aware  that  the  proprietor  of  the  hotel  did  not  insert 
the  forged  advertisement  ?" 

44  So  he  says." 

"  You  doubt  his  word  ?  You  insult  France  in  one  of  her  citi 
zens!" 

Maitland  apologized. 

"  Then  whom  do  you  suspect  of  inserting  the  advertisement, 
as  you  deny  having  done  it  yourself,  for  some  purpose  which 
does  not  appear  ?" 

"  I  believe  the  owner  of  the  coat  put  in  the  advertisement." 
'  That  is  absurd.    What  had  he  to  gain  by  it  ?" 

"  To  remove  me  from  London,  where  he  is  probably  conspiring 
against  me  at  this  moment." 

"  Buchanan,  you  trifle  with  justice!" 

"  I  have  told  you  that  my  name  is  not  Buchanan." 

"  Then-  why  did  you  forge  that  name  in  the  hotel  book  ?" 

"I  wrote  it  in  the  hurry  and  excitement  of  the  moment;  it 
was  incorrect." 

"  Why  did  you  lie  ?"    (Pourguoi  avez  vous  menti  f) 

Maitland  made  an  irritable  movement. 

"  You  threaten  Justice.  Your  attitude  is  deplorable.  You 
are  consigned  au  secret,  and  will  have  an  opportunity  of  revis 
ing  your  situation,  and  replying  more  fully  to  the  inquiries  of 
Justice." 

So  ended  Maitland'es  first  and,  happily,  sole  interview  with  a 
juge  d'instruction.  Lord  Walter  Brixton,  his  old  St.  Gatien's 
pupil,  returned  from  the  country  on  the  very  day  of  Maitland's 
examination.  An  interview  (during  which  Lord  Walter  laughed 
unfeelingly)  with  his  old  coach  was  not  refused  to  the  attache, 
and,  in  a  few  hours,  after  some  formalities  had  been  complied 
with,  Maitland  was  a  free  man.  His  pieces  justificatives,  his 
letters,  cards,  and  return  ticket  to  Charing  Cross,  were  returned 
to  him  intact. 

But  Maitland  determined  to  sacrifice  the  privileges  of  the  last- 
named  document. 

"  I  am  going  straight  to  Constantinople  and  the  Greek  Islands,* 
he  wrote  to  Barton.  "  Do  you  know,  I  don't  like  Paris.  My 
attempt  at  an  investigation  has  not  been  a  success.  I  have  en 
dured  considerable  discomfort,  and  I  fear  my  case  will  get  into 
the  Figaro,  and  there  will  be  dozens  of  'social  leaders'  and 
'  descriptive  headers'  about  me  in  all  the  penny  papers." 

Then  Maitland  gave  his  banker's  address  at  Constantinople, 
relinquished  the  quest  of  Margaret,  and  for  awhile,  as  the  Saga* 
say,,  "  is  out  of  the  storj.- 


TEE   MARK    OF    CAIN.  75 


CHAPTER  XI. 
THE  NIGHT  OP  ADVENTURES. 

A  COLD  March  wind  whistled  and  yelled  round  the  twisted 
chimneys  of  the  Hit  or  Miss.  The  day  had  been  a  trial  to  every 
sense.  First  there  would  conic  a  long-drawn  distant  moan,  a 
sigh  like  that  of  a  querulous  woman;  then  the  sigh  grew  nearer 
and  became  a  shriek,  as  if  the  same  woman  were  working  her 
self  up  into  a  passion;  and  finally  a  gust  of  rainy  hail,  mixed 
with  dust  and  small  stones,  was  dashed,  like  a  parting  insult,  on 
the  windows  of  the  Hit  or  Miss.  Then  the  shriek  died  away 
again  into  a  wail  and  a  moan,  and  so  da  capo. 

"  Well,  Eliza,  what  do  you  do  now  that  the  pantomime  sea 
son  is  over?"  said  Barton  to  Miss  Gullick,  who  was  busily  dress 
ing  a  doll,  as  she  perched  on  the  table  in  tho  parlor  of  the  Hit 
or  Miss. 

Barton  occasionally  looked  into  the  public-house,  partly  to  sea 
that  Maitland's  investment  was  properly  managed,  partly  be 
cause  the  place  was  near  the  scene  of  his  labors;  not  least,  pev- 
haps,  because  he  had  still  an  unacknowledged  hope  that  light 
on  the  mystery  of  Margaret  would  come  from  the  original  cen 
ter  of  the  troubles. 

"  I'm  in  no  hurry  to  take  an  engagement,"  answered  the  reso 
lute  Eliza,  holding  up  and  examining  her  doll.  It  was  a  fashion 
able  doll,  in  a  close-fitting  tweed  ulster,  which  covered  a  perfect 
panoply  of  other  female  furniture,  all  in  the  latest  mode.  As 
the  child  worked,  she  looked  now  and  then  at  the  illustrations 
in  a  journal  of  the  fashions.  "  There's  two  or  three  managers 
in  treaty  with  me,"  said  Eliza.  "  There's  the  Follies  and  Frivol 
ities  down  Norwood  way,  and  the  Varieties  in  the  'Ammersmith 
Road.  Thirty  shillings  a  week  and  niy  dresses,  that's  what  I 
ask  for,  and  I'll  get  it  too!  Just  now  I'm  taking  a  vacation,  and 
making  an  honest  penny  with  these  things,"  and  she  nodded  at 
a  little  basket  full  of  the  wardrobe  of  dolls. 

"Do  you  sell  the  dresses  to  the  toy -shops,  Eliza?"  asked  Bar* 
ton. 

"Yes,"  said  Eliza;  "I  am  doing  well  with  them.  I'm  not 
sure  I  sha'n't  need  to  take  on  some  extra  hands,  by  the  job,  to 
finish  my  Easter  orders." 

"Fm  glad  you  are  successful,"  answered  Barton.  *'I  say, 
Elian!" 

"  Yes,  doctor." 

41  Would  you  mind  showing  me  the  room  np-stairs  where  poor 
old  Shields  was  sitting  the  night  before  he  was  found  in  the 
snow  ?" 

It  had  suddenly  occurred  to  Barton— it  might  have  occurred 
to  him  before — that  this  room  might  be  worth  examining. 

*'  We  ain't  using  it  now!  I'll  show  you  it,"  said  Eliza,  leading 
the  way  up-stairs,  and  pointing  to  a  door. 

Barton  took  hold  of  the  handle. 

"  Ladies  first,"  he  said,  making  way  for  Eliza,  with  a  bow. 

**  No,"  came  the  child's  voice,  from  half-way  down  the  stairs^ 


78  THE   MARK    OF    CAIN. 

"  I  won't  come  in!  They  say  he  walks.  I've  heard  noises  ther* 
at  night." 

A  cold  stuffy  smell  came  out  of  the  darkness  of  the  unused 
room.  Barton  struck  a  match,  and,  seeing  a  candle  on  the  table, 
lit  it.  The  room  had  been  left  as  it  was  when  last  it  was  ten 
anted.  On  the  table  were  an  empty  bottle,  two  tumblers,  and  a 
little  saucer  stained  with  dry  colors,  blue  and  red,  part  of 
Shields'  stock  in  trade.  They  were,  besides,  some  very  sharp 
needles  of  bone,  of  a  savage  make,  which  Barton  recognized. 
They  were  the  instruments  used  for  tattooing  in  the  islands  of 
tbe  Southern  Seas. 

Barton  placed  the  lighted  candle  beside  the  saucer,  and  turned. 
over  the  needles.  Presently  his  eyes  brightened:  he  chose  one 
cut,  and  examined  it  closely.  It  was  astonishingly  sharp,  and 
was  not  of  bone  like  the  others,  but  of  wood. 

Barton  made  an  incision  in  the  hard  brittle  wood  with  his 
knife,  and  carefully  felt  the  point,  which  was  slightly  crusted 
with  a  dry  brown  substance. 

"  I  thought  so,"  he  said  aloud,  as  he  placed  the  needle  in  a 
pocket  instrument-case:  "  the  stem  of  the  leaf  of  the  coucourite 
palm?" 

Then  he  went  down-stairs  with  the  candle. 

"  Did  you  see  him?"  asked  Eliza,  with  wide-open  eyes. 

*'  Don't  be  childish,  Eliza;  there's  no  one  to  see.  Why  is  the 
room  left  all  untidy  ?" 

"  Mother  dare  not  go  in!"  whispered  the  child.  Then  shuj 
asked  in  a  low  voice,  "  Did  you  never  hear  no  more  of  that  aw» 
f ul  big  bird  I  saw  the  night  old  Shields  died  in  the  snow  ?" 

"  The  bird  was  a  dream,  Eliza.  I  am  surprised  such  a  clever 
girl  as  you  should  go  on  thinking  about  it,"  said  Barton,  rather 
sternly.  "  You  were  tired  and  ill,  and  you  fancied  it." 

"No,  I  wasn't,"  said  the  child,  solemnly.  "I  never  say  no 
more  about  it  to  mother,  nor  to  nobody;  but  I  did  see  it — ay,  and 
heard  it,  too.  I  remember  it  at  night  in  my  bed,  and  I  am  afraid. 
Oh!  what's  that?" 

She  turned  with  a  scream,  in  answer  to  a  scream  on  the  other 
side  of  the  curtained  door  that  separated  the  parlor  from  the  bar 
of  the  Hit  or  Miss. 

Some  one  seemed  to  fall  against  the  door,  which  at  the  sarna 
moment  flew  open,  as  if  the  wind  had  burst  it  in.  A  girl,  pant 
ing  and  holding  her  hand  to  her  breast,  her  face  so  deadly  white 
and  so  contorted  by  terror  as  to  be  unrecognizable,  flashed  into 
the  room.  "  Oh,  come!  oh,  come!"  she  cried.  "  She's  killing 
her!"  Then  the  girl  vanished  as  hurriedly  as  she  had  appeared.  It 
was  all  over  in  a  moment;  the  vivid  impression  of  a  face  mad 
dened  by  fear,  and  of  a  cry  for  help,  that  was  all.  In  that  mo 
ment  Barton  had  seized  his  hat,  and  sped,  as  hard  as  he  could 
run,  after  the  girl.  He  found  her  breaking  through  a  knot  of 
loafers  in  the  bar,  who  were  besieging  her  with  questions.  She 
turned  and  saw  Barton. 

"  Come,  doctor,  come!"  she  screamed  again,  and  fled  out  into 
the  night,  crossing  another  girl  who  was  apparently  speeding  on 
tbe  same  errand.  Barton  could  just  see  the  flying  skirts  of  the 


THE    MARK    OF    CAIN.  TT 

first  mefftengor,  and  hear  her  footfall  ring  on  the  pavement.  Up 
a  Long  .street,  down  another,  and  then  into  a  black  slum  she  flew, 
anil,  last.]}',  under  a  swinging  sign  of  the  old-fashioned  sort,  and 
through  a  doorway.  Barton,  following,  found  himself  for  the 
first  t'Jme  within  the  portals  of  the  old  English  Bun  house. 

The  wide  passage  (the  house  was  old)  was  crowded  with  girls, 
wildly  escited,  weeping,  screaming,  and  some  of  them  swearing. 
They*  were  pressed  so  thick  round  a  door  at  the  end  of  the  hall, 
that  Barton  could  scarcely  thrust  his  way  through  them,  drag 
ging  one  aside,  shouldering  another:  it  was  a  matter  of  life  and 
death. 

"  Oh,  she's  been  at  the  drink,  and  she's  killed  her  I  she's  killed 
her!  I  heard  her  fall!"  one  of  the  frightened  girls  was  exclaim 
ing  with  hysterical  iteration. 

"  Let  me  pass!"  shouted  Barton;  and  reaching  the  door  at  last,, 
he  turned  the  handle  and  pushed.  The  door  wTas  locked. 

"  Give  me  room,"  he  cried,  and  the  patrons  of  the  Bunhouse 
yielding  place  a  little,  Barton  took  a  little  short  run,  and  drove 
with  all  the  weight  of  his  shoulders  against  the  door.  It  opened 
reluctantly  with  a  crash,  and  he  was  hurled  into  the  room  by  hia 
own  impetus,  and  by  the  stress  of  the  girls  behind  him. 

What  he  beheld  was  more  like  some  dreadful  scene  of  ancienU 
tragedy  than  the  spectacle  of  an  accident  or  a  crime  of  modem 
life. 

By  the  windy  glare  of  a  dozen  gas-jets  (red  and  shaken  lib?' 
the  flame  of  blown  torches  by  the  rainy  gusts  that  swept  through  • 
a  broken  pane),  Barton  saw  a  girl  stretched  bleeding  on  th*» 
sanded  floor. 

One  of  her  arms  made  a  pillow  for  her  head;  her  soft  dark 
hair,  unfastened,  half  hid  her,  like  a  veil;  the  other  arm  lay  loosa 
by  her  side;  her  lips  were  white,  her  face  was  bloodless;  but  there 
was  blood  on  the  deep-blue  folds  about  the  bosom,  and  on  the 
floor.  At  the  further  side  of  this  girl — who  was  dead,  or  seem 
ingly  dead — sat,  on  a  low  stool,  a  woman,  in  a  crouching,  cat 
like  attitude,  quite  silent  and  still.  The  knife  with  which  she 
had  done  the  deed  was  dripping  in  her  hand,  the  noise  of  the 
broken  door,  and  of  the  entering  throng,  had  not  disturbed 
her. 

For  a  moment  even  Barton's  rapidity  of  action  and  resolution 
were  paralyzed  by  the  terrible  and  strange  vision  that  he  beheld. 
He  stared  with  all  his  eyes,  in  a  mist  of  doubt  and  amazement, 
at  a  vision,  dreadful  even  to  one  who  saw  death  every  day. 
Then  the  modern  spirit  awoke  in  him. 

"  Fetch  a  policeman,"  he  whispered,  to  one  of  the  crowding 
frightened  troop  of  girls. 

"  There  is  a  copper  at  the  door,  sir:  here  he  comes,"  said 
Susan,  the  young  woman  who  had  called  Barton  from  tht  Hit 
or  Miss. 

The  helmet  of  the  guardian  of  the  peace  appeared  welcome 
above  the  throng. 

And  still  the  pale  woman  In  white  sat  as  motionless  as  the 
stricken  girl  at  her  feet — as  if  she  had  not  been  an  actor,  but  a 
figure  in  a  tableau.  ,  - 


78  1HE   MA&X    OF 

"Policeman,"  said  Barton,  "  I  give  that  woman  in  charge  (or 
an  attempt  at  murder.  Take  her  to  the  station." 

"  I  don't  like  the  looks  of  her,"  whispered  the  policeman.  *'  Fd 
better  get  her  knife  from  her  first,  sir." 

"  Be  quick,  whatever  you  do,  and  have  the  house  cleared.  I 
can't  look  after  the  wounded  girl  in  this  crowd." 

Thus  addressed,  the  policeman  stole  round  toward  the  seated 
•woman,  whose  eyes  had  never  deigned  all  this  time,  to  stray 
from  the  body  of  her  victim.  Barton  stealthily  drew  near,  out 
flanking  her  on  the  other  side. 

They  were  just  within  arm's  reach  of  the  murderess  when 
she  leaped  with  incredible  suddenness  to  her  feet,  and  stood  for 
one  moment  erect  and  lovely  as  a  statue,  her  fair  locks  lying 
about  her  shoulders.  Then  she  raised  her  right  hand;  the  knife 
flashed  and  dropped  like  lightning  into  her  breast,  and  she,  too, 
fell  beside  the  body  of  the  girl  whom  she  had  stricken." 

"  By  George,  she's  gone!"  cried  the  policeman.  Barton  pushed 
past  him,  and  laid  his  hand  on  the  woman's  heart.  She  stirred 
once,  was  violently  shaken  with  the  agony  of  death,  and  so 
passed  away,  carrying  into  silence  her  secret  and  her  story. 

Mr.  Cranley's  hopes  had  been,  at  least  partially,  fulfilled, 

"  Drink,  I  suppose,  as  usual.  A  rummy  start!"  remarked  thw 
policeman,  sententiously ;  and  then,  while'  Barton  was  sounding* 
and  stanching  the  wound  of  the  housekeeper's  victim,  and  ap 
plying  such  styptics  as  he  had  within  reach,  the  guardian  of 
social  order  succeeded  in  clearing  the  Bunhouse  of  its  patrons, 
in  closing  the  door,  and  in  sending  a  message  (by  the  direction 
of  the  girl  who  had  summoned  Barton,  and  who  seemed  not  de 
void  of  sense)  to  Mrs.  St.  John  Dcloraine.  While  that  lady  was 
being  expected,  the  girl,  who  now  took  a  kind  of  subordinate 
lead,  was  employed  by  Barton  in  helping  to  carry  Margaret  to 
her  own  room,  and  in  generally  restoring  order. 

When  the  messenger  arrived  at  Mrs.  St.  John  Deloraine's 
house  with  Barton's  brief  note,  and  with  his  own  curt  statement 
that  "murder  was  being  done  at  the  Bunhouse,''  he  found  the 
lady  superior  rehearsing  for  a  play.  Mrs.  St.  John  Deloraine 
was  going  to  give  a  drawing- room  representation  of  "Nitouche," 
and  the  terrible  news  found  her  in  one  of  the  costumes  of  the 
heroine.  With  a  very  brief  explanation  (variously  misunder 
stood  by  her  guests  and  fellow-amateurs)  Mrs.  St.  John  Delo 
raine  hurried  off,  "  just  as  she  was,"  and  astonished  Barton  (who 
had  never  seen  her  before)  by  arriving  at  the  Bunhouse  as  a 
rather  conventional  shepherdess,  in  pink  and  gray,  rouged,  and 
with  a  fluffy  flaxen  wig.  The  versatility  with  which  Mrs.  St. 
John  Deloraine  made  the  best  of  ail  worlds  occasionally  led  her 
into  inconsequences  of  this  description. 

But,  if  she  was  on  pleasure  bent,  Mrs.  St.  John  Deloraine  had 
also,  not  only  a  kind  heart,  but  a  practical  mind.  In  five  min 
utes  she  had  heard  the  tragic  history,  had  dried  her  eyes,  torn 
off  her  wig,  and  settled  herself  as  nurse  by  the  bedside  of  Mar 
garet. 

The  girl's  wound,  as  Barton  fwas  happily  able  to  assure  her, 
Was  by  no  means  really  dangerous;  for  the  point  of  the  weapon 


*?HE    MARK    OF    CALY.  X 

cad  been  wrned.  and  had  touched  no  vital  port.    But  the  pro 
digious  force  with  which  the  blow  had  followed  on  a  scene  of 
violent  reproaches  and  insane  threats  (described  by  one  of   the     \ 
young    women)    had  affected  most   perilously  a  constitution     j 
already  weakened  by  sickness  and  trouble,     Mrs.  St.  John  Delo-    f 
raine,  assisted  by  the  most  responsible  of  the  Bunhouse  girls, 
announced  her  intention  to  sit  up  all  night  with  tha  patient. 
Barton— who  was  moved,  perhaps,  as  much  by  the  beauty  of  the 
girl,  and   by  the  excitement  of  the  events,  as  by  professional  i 
duty— remained  in  attendance  till  nearly  dawn,  when  the  lady  j 
superior  insisted  that  he  should  go  home  and  take  some  rest.  J 
As  the  danger  for  the  patient  was  not  immediate,  but  lay  in  the 
chances  of  lever,  Barton  allowed  himself  to  be  persuaded,  and, 
at  about  five  in  the  morning,  he  let  himself  out  of  the  Bunhouse, 
and  made  sleepily  for  his  lodgings.     But  sleep  that  night  was  to     « 
be  a  stranger  to  him,  and  his  share  of  adventures — which,  like    i 
sorrows,  never  "  come  as  single  spies,  but  in  battalions  "—was  by 
no  means  exhausted. 

The  night,  through  which  the  first  glimpse  of  dawn  just    ] 
peered,  was  extremely  cold;  and  Barton,  who  had  left  his  great-    j 
coat  m  the  Hit  or  Miss,  stamped  his  way  homeward,  his  hands 
deep  in  his  pockets,  his  hat  tight  on  his  head,  and  with  his  pipe 
for  company. 

'*  There's  the  gray  beginning,  Zooks,"  he  muttered  to  himself, 
In  half -conscious  quotation.  He  was  as  drowsy  as  a  man  can  be 
who  still  steps  along  and  keeps  an  open  eye.  The  streets  were 
empty,  a  sandy  wind  was  walking  them  alone,  and  hard  by  the 
milieu  river  flowed  on,  the  lamplights  dimly  reflected  in  the 
growing  blue  of  morning.  Bhrton  was  just  passing  the  locked 
doors  of  the  Hit  or  Miss— for  he  preferred  to  go  homeward  by 
the  riverside — when  a  singular  sound,  or  mixture  of  sounds, 
from  behind  the  battered  old  hoarding  close  by,  attracted  his 
attention.  In  a  moment  he  was  as  alert  as  if  he  had  not  passed 
a  nuit  blanche.  The  sound  at  first  seemed  not  very  unlike  that 
which  a  traction  engine,  or  any  other  monster  that  murders 
Bleep,  may  make  before  quite  getting  up  steam.  Then  there 
was  plainly  discernible  a  great  whirring  and  flapping,  as  if  a 
•windmill  had  become  deranged  in  its  economy,  and  was  labor 
ing  "  without  a  conscience  or  an  aim."  Whir,  whir,  flap, 
thump,  came  the  sounds,  and  then,  mixed  with  and  dominating 
them,  the  choking  scream  of  a  human  being  in  agony. 

But,  strangely  enough,  the  scream  appeared  to  be  half- checked 
and  suppressed,  as  if-the  sufferer,  whoever  he  might  be,  and 
whatever  his  torment,  were  striving  with  all  hie  might  to  endure 
in  silence.    Barton  had  heard  such  cries  in  the  rooms  of  the 
hospital.    To  such  sounds  the  question  chambers  of  old  prisons  ; 
and  palaces  must  often  have  echoed.     Barton  stopped,  thrilling  \ 
with  a  half -superstitious  dread;  so  moving,  in  that  urban  waste, 
were  the  accents  of  pain. 

Then  whir,  flap,  came  the  noise  again,  and  again  the  human 
rtote  was  heard,  and  was  followed  by  a  groan.  The  time  seemed 
infinite,  though  it  was  only  to  be  reckoned  by  moments,  or  pulse* 

hfiiit* — ihf»  fr.h IIP.  fiiirincy  whfr.fi  tho  f.nrt.nrincr  p.rank  revnlvftd.  and 


m  THE    MARK    OF    CAIN. 

was  answered  by  the  hard-wrung  exclamation  of  agony.  Bar« 
ton  looked  at  the  palings  of  the  hoarding:  they  were  a  couple  of 
feet  higher  than  his  head.  Then  he  sprung  up,  caught  the  top 
at  a  place  where  the  rusty- pointed  nai's  were  few  and  broken, 
and  next  moment,  with  torn  coat  and  a  scratch  on  his  arm,  he 
was  within  the  palisade. 

Through  the  crepuscular  light,  bulks  of  things — big,  black, 
formless— were  dimly  seen;  but  nearer  the  hoarding  than  the 
middle  of  the  waste  open  ground  was  a  spectacle  that  puzzled 
the  looker-on.  Great  fans  were  winnowing  the  air,  a  wheel  was 
running  at  prodigious  speed,  flaming  vapors  fled  hissing  forth, 
and  the  figure  of  a  man,  attached  in  some  way  to  the  revolving 
fans,  was  now  lifted  several  feet  from  the  ground,  now  dashed  to 
earth  again,  now  caught  in  and  now  torn  from  the  teeth  of  the 
flying  wheel. 

Barton  did  not  pause  long  in  empty  speculation ;  he  shouted, 
"  Hold  on!"  or  some  other  such  encouragement,  and  ran  in  the 
direction  of  the  sufferer.  But,  as  he  stumbled  over  dust-heaps, 
piles  of  wood,  old  baskets,  outworn  hats,  forsaken  boots,  and  all 
the  rubbish  of  the  waste  land,  the  movement  of  the  flying  fans 
began  to  slacken,  the  wheels  ran  slowly  down,  and,  with  a  great 
throb  and  creak,  the  whole  engine  ceased  moving,  as  a  heart 
stops  beating.  Then,  just  when  all  was  over,  a  voice  came  from 
the  crumpled  mass  of  humanity  in  the  center  of  the  hideous 
mechanism: 

"Don't  come  here;  stop,  on  your  peril!  I  am  armed,  and  I 
will  shoot!" 

The  last  words  were  feeble,  and  scarcely  audible. 

Barton  stood  still.  Even  a  brave  man  likes  (the  old  Irish  du- 
tiing  days  being  over)  at  least  to  know  why  he  is  to  be  shot  at. 

4  *  What's  the  matter  with  you?"  he  said.  "What  on  earth 
are  you  doing  ?  How  can  you  talk  about  shooting  ?  Have  you 
a  whole  bone  in  your  body?'' 

To  this  the  only  reply  was  another  groan ;  then  silence. 

By  this  time  there  was  a  full  measure  of  the  light  "  which  Lon 
don  takes  the  day  to  be,"  and  Barton  had  a  fair  view  of  his  part 
ner  in  this  dialogue. 

He  could  see  the  crumpled  form  of  a  man,  weak  and  distorted 
like  a  victim  of  the  rack — scattered,  so  to  speak — in  a  posture 
inconceivably  out  of  drawing,  among  the  fragments  of  the  en 
gine.  The  man's  head  was  lowest,  and  rested  on  an  old  battered 
box;  his  middle  was  supported  by  a  beam  of  the  engine;  one  of 
his  legs  was  elevated  on  one  of  the  fans,  the  other  hung  disjoint- 
edly  in  the  air.  The  man  was  strangely  dressed  in  a  close-fit 
ting  suit  of  cloth — something  between  the  uniform  of  bicycle 
clubs  and  the  tights  affected  by  acrobats.  Long,  thin,  gray  locks 
fell  back  from  a  high  yellow  forehead;  there  was  blood  on  his 
rnouth  and  about  his  beard. 

Barton  drew  near  and  touched  him;  the  man  only  groaned. 

"  How  am  I  to  help  you  out  of  this?"  said  the  surgeon,  care 
fully  examining  his  patient,  as  he  might  now  be  called.  A  lit- 
tie  close  observation  showed  that  the  man's  arms  were  strapped 


THE   MARK    OF   CAIN.  fft 

t>y  buckles  into  the  fang,  while  one  of  his  legs  was  caught  up  m 
some  elastic  coils  of  the  mechanism. 

With  infinite  tenderness,  Barton  disengaged  the  victim,  whose 
stifled  groans  proved  at  once  the  extent  of  his  sufferings  and  of 
his  courage. 

Finally,  the  man  was  free  from  the  machine,  and  Barton  dis 
covered  that,  as  far  as  rapid  investigation  could  show,  there 
were  no  fatal  injuries  done,  though  a  leg,  an  arm,  and  several 
ribs  were  fractured,  and  there  were  many  contusions. 

"  Now  I  must  leave  you  here  for  a  few  minutes,  while  I  go 
round  to  the  police-office  and  get  men  and  a  stretcher,"  said 
Barton. 

The  man  held  up  one  appealing  hand;  the  other  was  para- 
lyzed. 

"  First  hide  all  this,"  he  murmured,  moving  his  head  so  as  to 
indicate  the  fragments  of  his  engine.  They  lay  all  confused,  a 
heap  of  spars,  cogs,  wheels,  fans,  and  what  not,  a  puzzle  to  the 
(science  of  mechanics.  "  Don't  let  them  know  a  word  about  it," 
he  said.  "  Say  I  had  an  accident — that  I  was  sleep-walking  and 
fell  from  a  window — say  anything  you  like,  but  promise  to 
keep  my  secret.  In  a  week,"  he  murmured,  dreamily,  "  it 
would  have  been  complete.  It  is  the  second  time  I  have  jus* 
missed  success  and  fame." 

"  I  have  not  an  idea  what  your  secret  may  be,"  said  Barton* 
"  but  here  goes  for  the  machine." 

And  while  the  wounded  man  watched  him,  with  piteous  and 
wistful  eyes,  he  rapidly  hid  different  fragments  of  the  mechan 
ism  beneath  and  among  the  heaps  of  rubbish,  which  were  many 
and,  for  purposes  of  concealment,  meritorious. 

"  Are  you  sure  you  can  find  them  all  again?" asked  the  victin* 
of  misplaced  ingenuity. 

"Oh  yes,  all  right, "" said  Barton. 

"Then  you  must  get  me  to  the  street  before  you  bring  an^ 
help.  If  they  find  me  here  they  will  ask  questions,  and  my 
secret  will  conie  out." 

"  But  how  on  earth  am  I  to  get  you  to  the  street?"  Barton  in- 

?uired,  very  naturally.  "  Even  if  you  could  bear  being  carried, 
could  not  lift  you  over  the  boarding." 

"lean  bear  anything — I  will  bear  anything,"  said  the  man. 
"Look  in  iny  breast,  and  you  will  find  a  key  of  a  door  in  the 
palings." 

Barton  looked  as  directed,  and,  fastened  round  the  neck  of 
the  sufferer  by  a  leather  shoe-tie,  he  discovered,  sure  enough,  a 
kind  of  skeleton-key  in  strong  wire. 

"With  that  you  can  open  the  gate,  and  get  me  into  tha 
street,"  said  the  crushed  man;  "  but  be  very  careful  not  to  opera 
the  door  while  any  one  is  passing." 

He  only  got  out  these  messages  very  slowly,  and  after  inter* 
vala  of  silence  broken  by  groans. 

"Wait!  one  thing  more,"  he  said,  as  Barton  stooped  to  taks 
him  in  his  arms.  *•  I  may  faint  from  pain.  My  address  is  Pater- 
son's  Rents,  hard  by;  my  name  is  Winter."  Then,  after  a  pause, 
"  i  can  pay  for  a  private  room  at  the  infirmary,  and  I  must  hav<* 


S2  TBS   MARK    OF    CAIN. 

one.  Lift  the  third  plank  from  the  end  in  the  left-hand  cornet 
by  the  window,  and  you  will  find  enough.  Now!" 

Then  Barton  very  carefully  picked  up  the  poor  man,  mere  bag 
of  bones  (and  broken  bones)  as  he  was. 

The  horrible  pain  that  the  man  endured  Barton  could  imagine, 
yet  he  dared  not  hurry,  for  the  ground  was  strewn  with  every 
sort  of  pitfall.  At  last— it  seemed  hours  to  Barton,  it  must  have 
been  an  eternity  to  the  sufferer— the  boarding  was  reached,  and, 
ai'ter  listening  earnestly,  Barton  opened  the  door,  peered  out, 
saw  that  the  coast  was  clear,  deposited  his  burden  on  the  pave 
ment,  and  flew  to  the  not  distant  police  station. 

He  was  not  absent  long,  and  returning  with  four  men  and  a 
stretcher,  he  found,  of  course,  quite  a  large  crowd  grouped 
round  the  place  where  he  had  left  his  charge.  The  milkman 
waa  there,  several  shabby  women,  one  or  two  puzzled  police 
men,  three  cabmen  (though  no  wizard  could  have  called  up  a 
cab  at  that  hour  and  place  had  he  wanted  to  catch  a  train); 
there  were  riverside  loafers,  workmen  going  to  their  labor,  and 
a  lucky  penny-a-liner  with  his  "  tissue  "  and  pencil. 

Pushing  his  way  through  these  gapers,  Barton  found,  as  he 
expected,  that  his  patient  had  fainted.  He  aided  the  policemen 
to  place  him  on  the  stretcher,  accompanied  him  to  the  infirmary 
(hcnv  common  a  sight  is  that  motionless  body  on  a  stretcher  m 
the  streets!),  explained  as  much  of  the  case  as  was  fitting  to  the 
surgeon  in  attendance,  and  then,  at  last,  returned  to  his  rooms 
and  a  bath,  puzzling  over  the  mystery. 

"  By  Jove!"  he  said,  as  he  helped  himself  to  a  deviled  wing  of 
a  chicken  at  breakfast,  "  I  believe  the  poor  beggar  had  been  ex 
perimenting  with  a  flying-machine!" 

CHAPTER  XII. 

A  PATIENT. 

A  DOCTOR,  especially  a  doctor  actively  practicing  among  the 
poor  and  laborious,  soon  learns  to  take  the  incidents  of  his  pro 
fession  rather  calmly.  Barton  had  often  been  called  in  when  a 
revel  had  ended  in  suicide  or  death;  and  if  he  had  never  before 
seen  a  man  caught  in  a  flying-machine,  he  had  been  nsed  to 
heal  wounds  quite  as  dreadful  caused  by  engines  of  a  more  f a- 
miiiar  nature. 

Though  Barton,  therefore,  could  go  out  to  his  round  of  visits 
on  the  day  after  his  adventurous  vigil  without  unusual  emotion, 
it  may  be  conceived  ^hat  the  distress  and  confusion  at  the  Bun- 
house  were  very  great.  The  police  and  the  gloomy  attendants 
on  Death  were  in  the  place;  Mrs.  St.  John  Deloraine  had  to  see 
many  official  people,  to  answer  many  disagreeable  questions, 
and  suffered  in  every  way  extremely  from  the  consequences  of 
her  beneficent  enterprise.  But  she  displayed  a  coolness  and 
business-like  common  sense  worthy  of  a  less  versatile  philan 
thropist,  and  found  time,  amid  the  temporary  ruin  of  her  work, 
to  pay  due  attention  to  Margaret.  She  had  scarcely  noticed  the 
gir j  before,  talcing  her  very  much  on  trust,  and  being  preoccu 
pied  with  various  schemes  of  social  enjoyment.  But  now  she 


THE   MARK    OF   CAIN.  88 

was  strack  by  her  beauty  and  her  educated  manner,  though 
that,  to  be  sure,  was  amply  accounted  for  by  the  explanation* 
offered  by  Craniey  before  her  engagement.  Already  Mrs.  St. 
John  Deloraine  was  conceiving  a  project  of  perpetual  friend 
ship,  and  had  made  up  her  mind  to  adopt  Margaret  as  a  daugh 
ter,  or,  let  us  say,  niece  and  companion.  The  girl  was  too  re 
fined  to  cope  with  the  rough-and-ready  young  patronesses  of 
the  Bunhouse. 

If  the  lady's  mind  was  even  more  preoccupied  by  the  survivor 
in  the  hideous  events  of  the  evening  than  by  the  tragedy  itself 
and  the  dead  woman,  Barton,  too,  found  his  thoughts  straying 
to  his  new  patient — not  that  he  was  a  flirt  or  a  sentimentalist. 
Even  in  the  spring  Barton's  fancy  did  not  lightly  turn  to 
thoughts  of  love.  He  was  not  one  of  those  "  amatorious'* 
young  men  (as  Milton  says,  perhaps  at  too  great  length)  who 
cannot  see  a  pretty  girl  without  losing  their  hearts  to  her.  Bar 
ton  was  not  so  prodigal  of  his  affections;  yet  it  were  vain  to  deny 
that,  as  he  went  his  rather  drowsy  round  of  professional  visits, 
his  ideas  were  more  apt  to  stray  to  the  girl  who  had  been 
stabbed,  than  to  the  man  who  had  been  rescued  from  the  ma 
chinery.  The  man  was  old,  yellow,  withered,  and,  in  Barton's 
private  opinion,  more  of  a  lunatic  charlatan  than  a  successful  in 
ventor.  The  girl  was  young,  beautiful,  and  interesting  enough, 
apart  from  her  wound,  to  demand  and  secure  a  place  in  any  fancy 
absolutely  free. 

It  was  no  more  than  Barton's  actual  duty  to  call  at  the  old 
English  Bunhouse  in  the  afternoon.  Here  he  was  welcomed  by 
Mrs.  St.  John  Deloraine,  who  was  somewhat  pale  and  shaken  by 
the  horrors  of  the  night.  She  had  turned  all  her  young  custom 
ers  out,  and  had  stuck  up  a  paper  bearing  a  legend  to  the  effect 
that  the  old  English  Bunhouse  was  closed  for  the  present  and 
till  further  notice.  A  wistful  crowd  was  drawn  upon  the 
opposite  side  of  the  street,  and  was  staring  at  the  Bunhouse. 

Sirs.  St.  John  Deloraine  welcomed  Barton,  it  might  almost  be 
Baid,  with  open  arms.  She  had  by  this  time,  of  course,  laid 
aside  the  outward  guise  of  Nitouche,  and  wag  dressed  like  other 
ladies,  but  better. 

44  My  dear  Mr.  Barton,"  she  exclaimed,  "  your  patient  is  doing 
very  weU  indeed.  She  will  be  crazy  with  delight  when  she 
hears  that  you  have  called." 

Barton  could  not  help  being  pleased  at  this  intelligence,  even 
when  he  had  discounted  it  as  freely  as  even  a  very  brief  ac 
quaintance  with  Mrs.  St.  John  Deloraine  taught  her  friends  to 
do. 

44  Do  you  think  she  is  able  to  see  me  ?"  he  asked. 

«<  T>II  run  £0  jjgj.  room  and  inquire,"  said  Mrs.  St.  John  Deio* 

fleeting  nimbi 
Astraea,  as  described 


raine,  fleeting  nimbly  up  the  steep  stairs,  and  leaving,  like 
ibed  by  Charles  Lamb's  friend,  a  kind  of  rosy 
track  or  glow  behind  her  from  the  chastened  splendor  of  her 


•very  becoming  hose. 

Barton  waited  rather  impatiently  till  the  lady  of  the  Bun- 
house  returned  with  the  message  that  he  might  accompany  har 
ia«o  the  presence  of  the  invalid. 


84  THE    MARK    OF    CAIN, 

A  very  brief  interview  satisfied  him  trial  nis  patient  was  goiug 
on  even  better  than  he  had  hoped;  also  that  she  possessed  very 
beautiful  arid  melancholy  eyes.  She  said  little,  but  that  little 
kindly,  and  asked  whether  Mr.  Craniey  had  sent  to  inquire  for 
her.  Mrs.  St.  John  Deloraine  answered  the  question,  which 
puzzled  Barton,  in  the  negative;  and  when  they  had  left  Mar 
garet  (Miss  Burnside,  as  Mrs.  St.  John  Deloraine  called  her),  he 
ventured  to  ask  who  the  Mr.  Craniey  might  be  about  whom  the 
girl  had  spoken. 

"  Well,"  replied  Mrs.  St.  John  Deloraine,  "  it  was  through  Mr. 
Craniey  that  I  engaged  both  Miss  Burnside  and  that  unhappy 
woman  whom  I  can't  think  of  without  shuddering.  Tha  inquest, 
is  to  be  held  to-morrow.  It  is  too  dreadful  when  these  things, 
that  have  been  only  names,  come  home  to  one.  Now,  I  really  do 
not  like  to  think  hardly  of  anybody,  but  I  must  admit  that  Mr. 
Craniey  has  quite  misled  me  about  the  housekeeper.  He  gave 
her  an  excellent  character,  especially  for  sobriety,  and  till  yes 
terday  I  had  no  fault  to  find  with  her.  Then,  the  girls  say,  she 
became  quite  wild  and  intoxicated,  and  it  is  hard  to  believe  that 
this  is  the  first  time  she  yielded  to  that  horrid  temptation. 
Don't  you  think  it  was  odd  of  Mr.  Craniey  ?  And  I  sent  round 
a  messenger  with  a  note  to  his  rooms,  but  it  was  returned, 
marked,  *  Has  left;  address  not  known.'  I  don't  know  what  has 
become  of  him.  Perhaps  the  housekeeper  could  have  told  us, 
but  the  unfortunate  woman  is  beyond  reach  of  questions." 

*'  Do  you  mean  the  Mr.  Craniey  who  is  Rector  of  St.  Medard's, 
in  Chelsea  ?"  asked  Barton. 

"No;  I  mean  Mr.  Thomas  Craniey,  the  son  of  the  Earl  of 
3jirkenhead.  He  was  a  great  friend  of  mine." 

"  Mr.  Thomas  Craniey!"  exclaimed  Barton,  with  an  expression 
wf  face  which  probably  spoke  at  least  three  volumes,  and  these 
of  a  highly  sensational  character. 

"  Now,  please/'  cried  Mrs.  St.  John  Deloraine,  clasping  her. 
hands  in  a  pretty  attitude  of  entreaty,  like  a  recording  angel 
hesitating  to  enter  the  peccadillo  of  a  favorite  saint;  "  please 
don't  say  you  know  anything  against  Mr.  Craniey.  I  am  aware 
that  he  has  many  enemies." 

Barton  -was  silent  for  a  minute.  He  had  that  good  old  school- 
boy  feeling  about  not  telling  tales  out  of  school,  which  is  so 
English  and  so  unknown  in  France;  but,  on  the  other  side,  he 
could  scarcely  think  it  right  to  leave  a  lady  of  invincible  inno-( 
cence  at  the  mercy  of  a  confirmed  scoundrel. 

' '  Upon  my  word,  it  is  a  very  unpleasant  thing  to  have  to  say; 
but  really,  if  you  ask  me,  I  should  remark  that  Mr.  Cranley's 
enemies  are  of  his  own  making.  I  would  not  go  to  him  for  a 
girl's  character,  I'm  sure.  But  I  thought  he  had  disappeared 
from  society." 

"  So  he  had.  He  told  me  that  there  was  a  conspiracy  against 
him,  and  that  I  was  one  of  the  few  people  who,  he  felt  sure, 
Tould  never  desert  him.  And  I  never  would.  I  never  turn  my 
'Oack  on  my  friends." 

"  If  there  was  a  conspiracy,"  said  Barton,  "  I  am  the  ring- 
weader  in  it;  for,  as  you  ask  me,  I  must  assure  you,  on  my  h 


THE    MARK    OF    CAM.  85 

that  I  detected  Mr.  Cranley  in  the  act  of  trying  cheat  some 
very  young  men  at  cards.  I  would  not  have  mentioned  it  for 
the  world,"  he  added,  almost  alarmed  at  the  expression  of  paia 
and  terror  in  Mrs.  St.  John  Delorame's  face;  "but  you  wished 
to  be  told.  And  I  could  not  honestly  leave  you  in  the  belief  that 
he  is  a  man  to  be  trusted.  "What  he  did  when  I  saw  him  was 
only  what  all  who  knew  him  well  would  have  expected.  And 
his  treatment  of  you,  in  the  matter  of  that  woman's  character, 
was,"  cried  Barton,  growing  indignant  as  he  thought  of  it,  ki  one 
of  the  very  basest  things  I  ever  heard  of.  I  had  seen  that  woman 
before;  she  was  not  lit  to  be  intrusted  with  the  care  of  girls.  She 
was  at  one  time  very  well  known." 

Mrs.  St.  John  Deloraine's  face  had  passed  through  every  shade 
of  expression — doubt,  shame,  and  indignation;  but  now  it  as- 
eumed  an  air  of  hope. 

"  Margaret  has  always  spoken  so  well  of  him,"  she  said,  half 
to  herself.  "  He  was  always  very  kind  to  her,  and  yet  she  was 
only  the  poor  daughter  of  a  humble  acquaintance." 

"  Perhaps  he  deviated  into  kindness  for  once,"  said  Barton: 
••'  but  as  to  his  general  character,  it  is  certain  that  it  was  on  a 
par  with  the  trap  he  laid  for  you.  I  wish  I  knew  where  to  find 
him.  You  must  never  let  him  get  the  poor  girl  back  into  his 
hands." 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  Mrs.  St.  John  Deloraine,  with  convic 
tion  in  her  voice;  "  and  now  I  must  go  back  to  her,  and  see 
whether  she  wants  anything.  Do  you  think  I  may  soon  move 
her  to  my  own  house,  in  Cheyne  Walk  ?  It  is  not  far,  and  she 
will  be  so  much  more  comfortable  there." 

"  The  best  think  you  can  do,"  said  Barton;  "  and  be  sure  you 
wend  for  me  if  you  want  me,  or  if  you  ever  hear  anything  more 
of  Mr.  Cranley.  I  am  quite  ready  to  meet  him  anywhere." 

"  You  will  call  to-morrow  ? ' 

"  Certainly,  about  this  time,"  said  Barton;  and  he  kept  his 
promise  assiduously,  calling  often. 

A  fortnight  went  by,  and  Margaret,  almost  restored  to  health, 
and  in  a  black  tea-gown,  the  property  of  Mrs.  St.  John  Deloraine, 
was  lying  indolently  on  a  sofa  in  the  house  in  Cheyne  Walk. 
She  was  watching  the  struggle  between  the  waning  daylight  and 
the  fre,  when  the  door  opened,  and  the  servant  announced  "  Dr, 
Barton." 

Margaret  held  forth  a  rather  languid  hand. 

"  I'm  so  sorry  Mrs.  St.  John  Deloraine  is  out,"  she  said,  "  She 
is  at  a  soap-bubble  party.  I  wish  1  could  go.  It  is  so  long  since 
I  saw  any  children,  or  had  any  fun." 

So  Margaret  spoke,  and  then  she  sighed,  remembering  the 
reason  why  she  should  not  attend  soap-bubble  parties. 

<4  I'm  selfish  enough  to  be  glad  you  could  not  go,"  said  Barton; 
"  for  then  I  should  have  missed  you.  But  why  do  jou  r.igiiV" 

"  I  have  had  a  good  many  things  to  make  me  unhappy,"  saidi 
Margaret,  "  in  addition  to  my— to  my  accident.  You  must  n<?5 
think  I  am  always  bewailing  myself.  But  perhaps  you  kno  v 
that  I  lost  my  father,  just  before  I  entered  Mrs.  St.  John  De;> 
fraine's  service,  and  then  my  whole  course  of  life  was  altered/* 


86  THE   MARK    OF    CAW. 

••  I  am  very  sorry  for  you,"  said  Barton,  simply.  He  did  not, 
know  what  else  to  "say;  but  he  felt  more  than  Ins  conventional 
words  indicated,  and  perhaps  he  looked  as  if  he  felt  it  and 
more. 

Margaret  was  still  too  weak  to  bear  an  expression  of  sympathy, 
and  tears  came  into  her  eyes,  ^ollowed  by  a  blush  on  her  pale, : 
thin  cheeks.  She  was  on  the  point  of  breaking  down. 

There  is  nothing  in  the  world  so  trying  to  a  young  man  as  to 
see  a  girl  crying.  A  wild  impulse  to  kiss  and  comfort  her; 
passed  through  Barton's  mind,  before  he  said,  awkwardly 
again: 

"  I  can't  tell  you  how  sorry  I  am;  I  wish  I  oould  do  anything 
for  you.  Can't  I  help  you  in  any  way  ?  You  must  not  give  up 
eo  early  in  the  troubles  of  life;  and  then,  who  knows  but  yours, > 
having  begun  soon,  are  nearly  over?" 

Barton  would  perhaps  have  liked  to  ask  her  to  let  him  see 
that  they  were  over,  as  far  as  one  mortal  can  do  as  much  for: 
another. 

"  They  have  been  going  on  so  long,"  said  Margaret.  t(  I  have 
Had  such  a  wandering  life,  and  such  changes." 

Barton  would  have  given  much  to  be  able  to  ask  for  more  in 
formation;  but  more  was  not  offered. 

"  Let  us  think  of  the  future,"  he  said.  "  Have  you  any  idea 
wbout  what  you  mean  to  dp  ?" 

"Mrs.  St.  John  Deloraine  is  very  kind.  She  wishes  me  to/ 
»tay  with  her  always.  But  I  am  puzzled  about  Mr.  Cranley.  I 
don't  know  what  he  would  like  me  to  do.  He  seems  to  have 
gone  abroad." 

Barton  hated  to  hear  her  mention  Cranley's  name. 
Had  you  known  him  long  ?"  he  asked. 

"  No;  for  a  very  short  time  only.  But  he  was  an  old  friend 
of  my  father's  and  had  promised  him  to  take  care  of  me.  He 
took  me  away  from  school,  and  he  gave  me  a  start  in  life." 

"  But  surely  he  might  have  found  something  more  worthy  of 
you,  of  your  education,"  said  Barton. 

"What  can  a  girl  do?"  answered  Margaret.  "We  know  so 
little.  I  could  hardly  even  have  taught  very  little  children.. 
They  thought  me  dreadfully  backward  at  school — at  least, 
Miss I  mean,  the  teachers  thought  me  backward." 

<k  I'm  sure  you  know  as  much  as  any  one  should,"  said  Barton^ 
indignantly.  "  Were  you  at  a  nice  school  ?"  he  added. 

He  had  been  puzzling  himself  for  many  days  over  Margaret's 
history.  She  seemed  to  have  had  at  least  the  ordinary  share  of 
education  and  knowledge  of  the  world;  and  yet  he  had  found 
her  occupying  a  menial  position  at  a  philanthropic  bunliouse. 
Even  now  she  was  a  mere  dependent  of  Mrs.  St.  John  Deloraiue, 
though  there  was  a  stanchness  in  that  lady's  character  which 
made  her  patronage  not  precarious. 

'*  There  were  some  nice  girls  at  it,"  answered  Margar  *V  with«? 
o>ut  committing  herself. 

Rochefoucauld  declares  that  there  are  excellent  marriages, 
i>ut  no  such  thixut  as  a  delightful  marriage,  Perhaps  school* 


THE   MARK    OF    CAItf.  t* 

girls  may  admit,  as  an  abstract  truth,  that  good  schools  exist* 
but  few  would  allow  that  any  place  of  education  is  "  nice.1* 

'  "  It  is  really  getting  quite  late,"  Barton  observed,  reluctantly. 
He  lik^d  to  watch  the  girl,  whose  beauty,  made  wan  by  illness, 
received  just  a  touch  of  becoming  red  from  the  glow  of  the  fire. 
He  liked  to  talk  to  her;  in  fact,  this  was  his  most  interesting 
patient  by  far.  It  would  be  miserably  black  and  dark  in  his 
lodgings,  he  was  aware;  and  non-paying  patients  would  be  im 
portunate  in  proportion  to  their  poverty.  The  poor  are  often  the 
most  exacting  of  hypochondriacs.  Margaret  noticed  his  reluct 
ance  to  go  contending  with  a  sense  of  what  he  owed  to  pro 
priety. 

'*  I  am  sure  you  must  want  tea;  but  I  don't  like  to  ring.  It  ia 
so  short  a  time  since  I  wore  an  apron  and  a  cap  and  the  rest  cf 
it  myself  at  the  Bunhouse,  that  I  am  afraid  to  ask  the  servants 
to  do  anything  for  me.  They  must  dislike  me;  it  is  very  nat» 
ural." 

"  It  is  not  natural  at  all,"  said  Barton,  with  conviction;  "per- 
fectly  monstrous,  on  the  other  hand."  This  little  compliment 
eclipsed  the  effect  of  firelight  on  the  girl's  face.  "  Suppose  1 
ring,"  he  added,  and  then  you  can  Bay,  when  Mary  says  *  Did 
you  ring,  miss  ?'  *  No,  I  didn't  ring;  but  as  you  are  here,  Mary* 
would  you  mind  bringing  tea  ?'  " 

"  I  don't  know  if  that  would  be  quite  honest,"  said  Margaret, 
doubtfully! 

"A  pious  fraud— a  drawing-room  comedy,"  said  Barton; 
"  have  we  rehearsed  it  enough  V" 

Then  he  touched  the  bell,  and  the  little  piece  of  private  theafr* 
ricals  was  played  out,  though  one  of  the  artists  had  some  diffi 
culty  (as  amateurs  often  have)  in  subduing  an  inclination  t<» 
giggle. 

"Now,  this  is  quite  perfect,"  said  Barton,  when  he  had  been 
accommodated  with  a  large  piece  of  plum-cake.  "  This  is  tha 
very  kind  of  cake  which  we  specially  prohibit  our  patients  to 
touch;  v^nd  so  near  dinner-time,  too!  There  should  be  a  new 
proverb,  '  Physician,  diet  thyself.'  You  see,  we  don't  all  live  oa 
a  very  thin  slice  of  cold  bacon  and  a  piece  of  dry  toast." 

"  Mrs.  St.  John  Deloraine  has  never  taken  up  that  kind  of 
life,*'  said  Margaret. 

"  She  tries  a  good  many  new  things,"  Barton  remarked. 

"  Yes;  but  she  is  the  best  woman  in  the  world!"  answered 
the  girl.  4<  Oh,  if  you  knew  what'  a  comfort  it  is  to  be  with  a 
lady  again  1"  And  she  shuddered  as  she  remembered  her  late 
chaperon, 

"  I  wonder  if  some  day — you  won't  think  me  very  rude  ?* 
asked  Barton — "you  would  mind  telling  me  a  little  of  your  his 
tory?" 

"  Mr.  Cranley  ordered  me  to  say  nothing  about  it,"  answered 
Margaret;  **  and  a  great  deal  is  very  sad  and  hard  to  tell.  You 
are  all  so  kind,  and  everything  is  so  quiet  here,  and  safe  an<& 
peaceful,  that  it  frightens  me  to  think  of  tilings  that  have  hap- 
pened,  or  may  happen." 

••  They  aka&  never  happen,  if  you  will  trust  me,M  cried  Bar 


MARK    OF   CAIN. 

ton,  when  a  carriage  was  heard  to  stop  at  the  gateway  of  th* 
garden  outside. 

"Here  is  Mrs.  St.  John  Deloraine  at  last/' cried  Margaret, 
starting  to  run  to  the  window;  but  she  was  so  weak  that  she 
tripped,  and  would  have  fallen  had  Barton  not  caught  her 
lightly. 

f       «*  Oh,  how  stupid  you  must  think  me!"  she  said,  blushing, 
;   And  Barton  thought  he  had  never  seen  anything  so  pretty. 

"Once  for  all,  I  don't  think  you  stupid,  or  backward,  or  any 
thing  else  that  you  call  yourself." 

But  at  that  very  moment  the  door  opened,  and  Mrs,  St.  John 
Deloraine  entered",  magnificently  comfortable  in  furs,  and  bring 
ing  a  fresh  air  of  hospitality  and  content  with  existence  into  the 
room. 

"  Oh,  you  are  here!"  she  cried,  "  and  I  have  almost  missed 
you.  Now  you  must  stay  to  dinner.  You  need  not  dress;  wa 
are  all  alone,  Margaret  and  I." 

So  he  did  stop  to  dine,  and  pauper  hypochondriacs,  eager 
for  his  society  (which  was  always  cheering),  knocked,  and  rang 
also,  at  his  door  in  vain.  It  was  an  excellent  dinner;  and,  on 
the  wings  of  the  music  Mrs.  St.  John  Deloraine  was  plaving  in 
the  front  drawing-room,  two  happy  hours  passed  lightly  ovei 
Barton  and  Margaret,  into  the  backward,  where  all  hours — go\x* 
aud  evil— abide,  remembered  or  forgotten. 

CHAPTER   XIII. 

ANOTHER    PATIENT. 
**  l)es  ailes!  dcs  ailes!  des  ail  ex! 
Comme  dans  le  chant  do  lluekert,1* 

ThcophUe  frontier. 

*'  SO  you  think  a  flying  machine  impossible,  sir,  and  me,  I  pro" 
sume,  a  fanatic?  Well,  well,  you  have  Euaebius  with  yon. 
*Such  an  one,'  he  says — meaning  men,  and  inventors  like  me — 
*  is  a  little  crazed  with  the  humors  of  melancholy.' " 

The  speaker  was  the  man  whom  Barton  had  rescued  from  the 
cogs  and  wheels  and  springs  of  an  infuriated  engine.  Barton 
could  not  but  be  interested  in  the  courage  and  perseverance  of  this 
sufferer,  whom  he  was  visiting  in  hospital.  The  young  .surgeon 
had  gone  to  inspect  the  room  in  Patersoirs  Rents,  and  had  found 
it,  as  he  more  or  less  expected,  the  conventional  den  of  the  needy 
inventor.  Our  large  towns  are  full  of  snch  persons.  They  are  the 
treasure  hunters  of  cities  and  of  civilization — the  modern  seekers 
for  the  philosopher's  stone.  At  the  end  of  a  vista  of  dreams  they 
behold  the  great  discovery  made  perfect,  and  themselves  the 
winners  of  fame  and  of  wealth  incalculable. 

For  the  present,  most  of  the?e  visionaries  are  occupied  with 
electricity.  They  intend  to  inaka  the  lightning  a  domestic  slave 
in  every  house,  and  to  turn  Ariel  into  a  common  carrier.  But, 
from  the  aspect  of  Winter's  den  in  Patersoii's  Rents,  it  was  easy 
to  read  that  his  heart  was  set  on  a  more  ancient  foible.  The 
"white  deal  book-shelves,  home-made,  which  lined  every  wail, 
wsre  packed  "nith  tattered  books  011  mechanics,  and  especiall; 


THE    MARK    OF   CAIN.  89 

on  the  art  of  flying.  Here  you  saw  the  spoils  of  the  fourpenny 
box  of  cheap  book-venders  mixed  with  volumes  in  better  condi 
tion,  purchased  at  a  larger  cost.  Here — among*  the  litter  of  tat 
tered  pamphlets  and  well-thumbed  "  Proceedings"  of  the  Lin- 
nean  and  the  Aeronautic  Society  of  Crest  Britain — here  were 
Fredericus  Herrnanr.us'  '•  De  Arte  Volandi,"and  Cayley's  works, 
and  Hat-ton  Turner's  "  Astra  Castra."  and  the  "  Voyage  to  the 
Moon"  of  Cyrano  de  Bergerac,  and  Bishop  Wilkins*  "  Dsedalus," 
and  the  same  sanguine  prelate's  "  Mercury,  the  Secret  Messen 
ger.'*  Here  were  Cardan  and  Raymond  Lully,  and  a  shabby  set 
of  the  classics,  mostly  in  French  translations,  and  a  score  of 
lucubrations  by  French  and  other  inventors— Ponton.  d'Ame- 
court,  Borelli,  Chabrier,  Girard,  and  Marey. 

Even  if  his  books  had  not  shown  the  direction  of  the  new 
patient's  mind — (a  man  is  known  by  his  books  at  least  as  much 
as  by  his  companions,  and  companions  Winter  had  none) — even 
if  the  shelves  had  not  spoken  clearly,  the  models  and  odd-and-ends 
in  the  room  would  have  proclaimed  him  an  inventor.  As  the 
walls  were  hidden  by  his  library,  and  as  the  floor,  also,  was  lit 
tered  with  tomes  and  pamphlets  and  periodicals,  a  quantity  of 
miscellaneous  gear  was  hung  by  hooks  from  the  ceiling. 

Barton,  who  was  more  tnan  commonly  tall,  found  his  head 
being  buffeted  by  big  preserved  wings  of  birds  and  other  flying 
things— from  the  sweeping  pinions  of  the  albatross  to  the 
leathery  covering  of  the  bat.  From  the  ceiling,  too,  hung 
models,  cleverly  constructed  in  various  materials;  and  here — a 
cork  with  quills  stuck  into  it,  and  with  a  kind  of  drill-bow—was 
the  little  flying  model  of  Sir  George  Cayiey.  The  whole  place, 
duety  and  musty,  with  a  faded  smell  of  the  oil  in  bird's  feathers, 
was  almost  more  noisome  than  curious.  When  Barton  left  it, 
his  mind  was  made  up  as  to  the  nature  of  Winter's  secret,  or 
delusion;  and  when  he  visited  that  queer  patient  in  hospital,  he 
was  not  surprised  either  by  his  smattered  learning  or  by  his 
golden  dreams. 

"  Yes,  sir;  Eusebius  is  against  me,  no  doubt,"  Winter  went  on 
with  his  eager  talk.  "  An  acute  man— rather  too  acute,  don't 
you  think,  for  a  Father  of  the  Church  ?  That  habit  he  got  into  of 
smashing  the  arguments  of  the  heathen,  gave  him  a  kind  of 
fiippancy  in  talking  of  high  matters." 

**  Such  as  flying  V"  put  in  Barton. 

"  Yes;  such  as  our  great  aim— the  aim  of  all  the  ages,  I  may 
call  it.  What  does  Bishop  Wilkins  say,  sir?  Why,  he  says, 
« I  doubt  not  but  that  flying  in  the  air"  may  be  easily  effected, 
by  a  diligent  and  ingenious  artificer.'  *  Diligent/  I  may  say, 
I  have  been;  as  to  'ingenious,'  I  leave  the  verdict  to  others." 

**  Was  that  Peter  Wilkins  you  were  quoting?"  asked  Barton, 
to  humor  his  man. 

"  Why,  no,  sir;  the  bishop  was  not  Peter.  Peter  Wilkins  is 
the  hero  of  a  mere  romance,  in  which,  it  is  tiue,  we  meet  with 
women — Goories  he  calls  them — endowed  with  the  power  of 
flight.  But  they  were  born  so.  We  get  no  help  from  Peter 
Wilkins*  a  uierti 


W  THE   MARK    OF   CAIff. 

"  It  doesn't  seem  to  be  so  easy  as  the  bishop  fancies  7*  remarked 
Barton,  leading  him  on. 

"No,  sir,"  cried  Winter,  all  his  aches  and  pains  forgotten,  and 
his  pale  face  flushed  with  the  delight  of  finding  a  listener  who 
did  not  laugh  at  him.  "  No,  sir;  the  bishop,  though  ingenious, 


not  a  practical  man.  But  look  at  what  he  says  about  the 
weight  of  your  flying  machine  1  Can  anything  be  more  sensible? 
Borne  out,  too,  by  the  most  recent  researches,  and  the  authority 
of  Professor  Pettigrew  Bell  himself.  You  remember  the  iron  fly 
made  by  Regimontanus  of  Nuremberg  ?" 

"The  iron  fly!"  murmured  Barton.     "I  can't  say  I  do." 

"  You  will  find  a  history  of  it  in  Ramus.  This  fly  would  leap 
from  the  hands  of  the  great  Regimontanus,  flutter  and  buzz 
round  the  heads  of  his  guests  assembled  at  supper,  and  then,  as 
if  wearied,  return  and  repose  on  the  finger  of  its  maker." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  believe  that  9n  asked  Barton. 

"Why  not,  sir;  why  not?  Did  not  Archytas  of  Tarentum, 
one  of  Plato's  acquaintances,  construct  a  wooden  dove,  in  no 
way  less  miraculous  ?  And  thfc  same  Regimontanus,  at  Nurem 
berg,  fashioned  an  eagle  which,  by  way  of  triumph,  did  fly  out 
of  the  city  to  meet  Charles  V.  But  where  was  I?  Oh,  at 
Bishop  Wilkins,  Cardan  doubted  of  the  iron  fly  of  Regi 
montanus,  because  the  material  was  so  heavy.  But  Bishop 
Wilkins  argues,  in  accordance  with  the  best  modern  authorities, 
that  the  weight  is  no  hinderance  whatever,  if  proportional  to  the 
motive  power.  A  flying  machine,  says  Professor  Bell,  in  the 
Encyclopedia  Britannica—  (you  will  not  question  the  authority 
of  the  Encyclopedia  Britannica?)  —  a  flying  machine  should  be 
*  a  compact,  moderately  heavy,  and  powerful  structure,'  There, 
you  see,  the  bishop  was  right." 

"  Yours  was  deuced  powerful,"  remarked  Barton.  "  I  did  not 
expect  to  see  two  limbs  of  you  left  together." 

4*  It  is  pcv/erful,  or  rather  it  was,"  answered  Winter,  with  a 
heavy  sigh;  *'  but  it's  all  to  do  over  again  —  all  to  do  over  again! 
Yet  it  was  a  noble  specimen.  *  The  passive  surface  was  reduced 
to  a  minimum,'  as  the  learned  author  in  the  Encyclopedia  recom- 
Bcends." 

<;By  Jove!  the  passive  surf  ace  was  jolly  near  reduced  to  a 
mummy.  You  were  the  passive  surface,  as  far  as  I  could  see." 

"  Don't  laugh  at  me,  please,  sir,  after  you've  been  so  kind. 
All  the  rest  laugh  at  me.  You  can't  think  what  a  pleasure  it  ha* 
been  to  talk  to  a  scholar,"  and  there  was  a  new  flush  on  the  poor 
fellow's  cheek,  and  something  watery  in  his  eyes. 

•*  I  beg  your  pardon,  my  dear  sir."  cried  Barton,  greatly 
ashamed  of  himself.  "  Pray  go  on.  The  subject  is  entirely  new 
to  me.  I  had  not  been  aware  that  there  were  any  serious 
Diodern  authorities  in  favor  of  the  success  of  this  kind  of  expert 
ment." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Winter,  much  encouraged,  and  taking 
Barton's  hand  in  his  own  battered  claw;  "  thank  you.  But  why 
should  he  run  only  to  modern  authorities  ?  All  great  inven 
tions,  all  great  ideas,  have  been  present  to  men's  minds  and 
faopt3b  from  the  beginning  of  civilization.  Did  not  Ernpedoeiea 


THE   MARK    OF    CAIN.  ft 

forestall  Mr.  Darwin,  and  hit  out,  at  a  stroke,  the  hypothesis  of 
natural  selection?" 

"Well,  he  did  make  a  shot  at  it,"  admitted  Barton,  who  re 
membered  as  much  as  that  from  "  the  old  coaching  days,"  and 
college  lectures  at  St.  Gatien's. 

"Well,  what  do  we  find?    As  soon  as  we  get  a  whisper  of 

civilization  in  Greece,  we  find  Daedalus  successful  in  flying. 

The  pragmatic  interpreters  pretend  that  the  fable  does  but  point 

i  to  the  discovery  of  sails  for  ships;  but  I  put  it  to  you,  is  that 

probable?" 
. .      "  Obvious  bosh,"  said  Barton. 

"And  the  meteorological  mythologists,  sir,  they  maintain 
that  Daedalus  is  only  the  lightning  flying  in  the  breast  of  the 
storm!"  \ 

...      "  There's  nothing  those  fellows  won't  say,"  replied  Barton. 

"  I'm  glad  you  are  with  me,  sir.  In  Daedalus  7  see  either  a 
record  of  a  successful  attempt  at  artificial  flight,  or  at  the  very 
least,  the  expression  of  an  aspiration  as  old  as  culture.  You 
wouldn't  make  Daedalus  the  evening  clouds  accompanying 
Minos,  the  sun,  to  his  setting  in  Sicily,  in  the  west  ?"  added  Win 
ter,  anxiously. 

"  I  never  heard  of  such  nonsense,"  said  Barton. 

"  Sir  Frederick  Leighton,  the  President  of  the  Royal  Academy, 
is  with  me,  sir,  if  I  may  judge  by  his  picture  of  Daedalus." 

"  Every  sensible  man  must  be  with  you,"  answered  Barton. 

"  Well,  sir,  I  won't  detain  you  with  other  famous  flyers  of  an 
tiquity,  such  as  Abaris,  mounted  on  an  arrow,  as  described  by 
Herodotus.  Doubtless  the  arrow  was  a  flying  machine,  a  nov 
elty  to  the  ignorant  Scythians." 

"  It  must  have  been,  indeed." 

"  Then  there  was  the  Greek  who  flew  before  Nero  in  the 
circus;  but  he,  I  admit,  had  a  bad  fall,  as  Seutonius  recounts. 
That  character  of  Lucian's,  who  employed  an  eagle's  wing  and 
a  vulture's  in  his  flight,  I  take  to  be  a  mere  figment  of  the  satir 
ist's  imagination.  But  what  do  you  make  of  Simon  Magus? 
He,  I  cannot  doubt,  had  invented  a  machine  in  which,  like  my 
self,  he  made  use  of  steam  or  naphtha.  This  may  be  gathered 
'*  from  Arnobius,  our  earliest  authority.  He  mentions  expressly 
]  currum  Simonis  Magi  et  quadrigas  igneas,  the  chariot  of  Simon 
\  Magus  and  his  vehicles  of  flame — clearly  the  naphtha  is  alluded 
to — which  vanished  into  air  at  the  word  of  the  Apostle  Peter. 
The  latter  circumstances  being  miraculous,  I  take  leave  to 
doubt;  but  certainly  Simon  Magus  had  overcome  the  difficulties 
of  aerial  navigation.  But,  though  Petrus  Crinitus  rejects  the 
tradition  as  fabulous,  I  am  prepared  to  believe  that  Simon 
Magus  actually  flew  from  the  Capitol  to  the  Aventine!" 

""Hie  world  knows  nothing  of  its  greatest  men,'"  quoted 
Barton. 

"  Simon  Magus  has  been  the  riotim,  sir,  of  theological  acri- 
monr,  his  character  blackened,  hia  flying  machine  impugned,  or 
ascribed,  as  by  the  credulous  Arnobius,  to  diabolical  arts.  In 
the  dark  ages,  naturally,  the  science  of  artificial  flight  was  either 
neglected  or  practiced  in  secret,  through  fear  of  persecution. 


02  THE    MARK    Of    CAIN. 

Busbequins  speaks  of  a  Turk  at  Constantinople  who  attempted 
something  in  this  way;  but  he  (the  Turk,  I  mean)  was  un tram 
meled  by  ecclesiastical  pre j  uclice.  But  why  should  we  tarry  in  the 
past  ?  Have  we  not  Mr.  Proctor  with  us,  both  in  Knowledge  and 
the  CornhUl  ?  Does  not  the  pre-eminent  authority,  Professor 
Pettigrew  Bell,  himself  declare,  with  the  weight,  too,  of  the 
Encyclopedia  Britannica,  that  '  the  number  of  successful  flying 
models  is  considerable.  It  is  not  too  much  to  expect/  he  goes 
on,  *  that  the  problem  of  artificial  flight  will  be  actually  solved, 
or  at  least  much  simplified.'  What  less  can  we  expect,  as  he 
observes,  in  the  land  of  Watt  and  Stephenson,  when  the  construc 
tion  of  flying  machines  has  been '  taken  up  in  earnest  by  practical 
men?'"  f 

"  We  may,  indeed,"  said  Barton,  "  hope  for  the  best  when  ' 
persons  of  your  learning  and  ingenuity  devote  their  efforts  to»  j 
the  cause." 

"  As  to  my  learning,  you  flatter  me,"  said  Winter.  "  I  am  nc 
scholar;  but  an  enthusiast  will  study  the  history  of  his  subject 
Did  I  remark  that  the  great  Dr.  Johnson,  in  these  matters  s< 
skeptical,  admits  (in  a  romance,  it  is  true)  the  possibility  of  ar 

>y  valley  expected  t< 
all  men  were  equalh* 
equal  alacrity  tea<?> 
them  all  to  fly.'" 

'  And  you  will  keep  your  secret,  like  Dr.  Johnson's  artist  ?' 

'  To  you  I  do  not  mind  revealing  this  much.    The  vans  CA 
wings  of  my  machine  describe  elliptic  figures  of  eight- " 

'  I've  seen  them  do  that,"  said  Barton. 

*  Like  the  wings  of  birds;  and  have  the  same  forward  an& 
downward  stroke,  by  a  direct  piston  action.  The  impetus  is 
given,  after  the  descent  in  the  air— which  I  affected  by  starting 
from  a  height  of  six  feet  only— by  a  combination  of  heated 
naphtha  and  of  india  rubber  under  torsion.  By  steam  alone,  in 
1842,  Philips  made  a  model  of  a  flying-machine  soar  across  two 
fields,  Penaud's  machine,  relying  only  on  india  rubber  under 
torsion,  flies  for  some  fifty  yards.  What  a  model  can  do,  as 
Bishop  Wilkins  well  observes,  a  properly  weighted  and  propor 
tioned  flying-machine,  capable  of  carrying  a  man,  can  do  also." 
"  But  yours,  when  I  first  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  you,  was 
not  carrying  you  at  all." 

*'  Something  had  gone  wrong  with  the  mechanism,"  answered 
Winter,  sighing.  "  It  is  always  so.  An  inventor  has  many 
things  to  contend  against.  Remember  Arkwright,  and  how  he 
was  puzzled  hopelessly  by  that  trifling  error  in  the  thickness  of 
the  valves  in  his  spinning  machine.  He  had  to  give  half  his 
profits  to  Strutt,  the  local  blacksmith,  before  Strutt  would  tell 
him  that  he  had  only  to  chalk  his  valves!  The  thickness  of  a 
coating  of  chalk  made  all  the  difference.  Some  trifle  like  that, 
depend  on  it,  interfered  with  my  machine.  You  see,  I  am 
obliged  to  make  my  experiments  at  night,  and  in  the  dark,  for 
fear  of  being  discovered  and  anticipated.  I  have  been  on  tke 
verge — nay,  over  the  verge — of  success.  '  No  imaginable  inven 
tion,'  Bishop  Wilkins  says,  '  could  prove  of  greater  benefit  to 


THE    MARK    OF   CAIN.  9$ 

the  world,  or  greater  glory  to  the  author.'  A  few  weeks  ago 
that  glory  was  mine!" 

'  *  Why  a  few  weeks  ago  ?"  asked  Barton.  * '  Was  your  machine 
more  advanced  then  than  when  I  met  you  ?" 

"  I  cannot  explain  what  had  happened  to  check  its  motion,'* 
said  Winter,  wearily;  "  but  a  few  weeks  a»o  my  machine  acted, 
and  I  may  say  that  I  knew  the  sensations  of  a  bird  on  the 
wing." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  actually  fleiv  f 

"  For  a  very  short  distance,  I  did  indeed,  sir!" 

Barton  looked  at  him  curiously;  two  currents  of  thought — one 
wild  and  credulous,  the  other  practical  and  professional— surged 
and  met  in  his  brain.  The  professional  current  proved  the 
stronger  for  the  moment. 

"Good-night,"  he  said.  "You  are  tiring  and  over-exciting 
yourself.  I  will  call  again  soon." 

He  did  call  again,  and  Winter  told  him  a  tale  which  will  be 
lepeated  in  its  proper  place. 

CHAPTER  XTV. 

FOUND. 
*•  AH  precious  things  discovered  late 

To  those  that  seek  them  issue  forth; 
For  Love,  in  sequel,  works  with  Fate, 
And  draws  the  veil  from  hidden  worth." 

The  Sleeping  Beauty. 

THAT  Margaret  and  Barton  were  losing  their  hearts  to  each 
*ther  could  not,  of  course,  escape  the  keen  eye  of  Mrs.  St.  John 
Deloraine.  She  noticed  that  Margaret,  though  perfectly  restored 
io  health,  and  lacking  only  the  clear  brown  over  the  rose  of  her 
cheeks,  was  by  no  means  so  light  of  heart  as  in  the  very  earliest 
days  of  her  recovery.  Love  makes  men  and  women  poor  com 
pany,  and,  to  speak  plainly,  takes  the  fun  out  of  them.  Mar 
garet  was  absent-minded,  given  to  long  intervals  of  silence,  a 
bad  listener— all  of  them  things  hatef  uJ  to  Mrs.  St.  John  DeJo- 
raine,  but  pardoned,  in  this  instance,  by  the  benevolent  lady. 
Margaret  was  apt  to  blush  without  apparent  cause,  to  start  when 
a  knock  came  to  the  door,  to  leave  the  room  hurriedly,  and  need 
to  be  sought  and  brought  back,  when  Barton  called,  Nor  was 
Barton  himself  such  good  company  as  he  had  been.  His  man 
ner  was  uncertain  and  constrained;  his  visits  began  to  be  paid 
at  longer  intervals;  he  seemed  to  have  little  to  say,  or  talked  ia 
fits  and  starts;  and  yet  he  did  not  know  how  to  go  away. 

Persons  much  less  clear-sighted  than  Mrs.  St.  John  Deloraine 
could  have  interpreted,  without  difficulty,  this  awkward  posi 
tion  of  affairs. 

Now,  like  most  women  of  her  kindly  and  impulsive  character 
(when  it  has  not  been  refined  away  into  nothing  by  social  hy 
pocrisies),  Mrs.  St.  John  Deloraine  was  a  perfectly  reckless 
match-maker.  She  believed  in  love  with  her  whole  heart;  it 
was  a  joy  to  mark  the  beginnings  of  inclination  in  two  young 
and  she  simply  reveled  in  an  "engagement."  All  con* 


94  THE   MARK    OF    CAIN. 

«iderations  of  economy,  prudence,  and  foresight  melted  away 
before  the  ardor  of  her  enthusiasm;  to  fall  in  love  first,  to  get  en« 
gaged  next,  and  to  be  married  as  soon  as  possible  afterward, 
without  regard  to  consequences  of  any  kind,  were,  in  this  lady't 
mind,  heroic  actions,  and  almost  the  whole  duty  of  men  and 
women. 

In  her  position,  and  with  her  opportunities,  she  soon  knew  all 
that  was  to  be  known  about  Margaret's  affections,  and  also  abot 
Barton's. 

"  He's  as  much  in  love  with  you  as  a  man  can  be,  my  dear," 
rshe  said  to  Margaret.  "  Not  worthy  of  him?  Your  past  a  bar 
rier  between  you  and  him?  Nonsense,  Daisy;  that  is  his  affair, 
/know  you  are  as  good  a  girl  as  ever  lived.  Your  father  was 
poor,  no  doubt,  and  that  wretched  Mr.  Cranley — yes,  he  was  a 
wretch — had  a  spite  against  you.  I  don't  know  why,  and  you 
won't  help  me  to  guess.  But  Mr.  Barton  is  too  much  of  a  man 
to  let  that  kind  of  thing  disturb  him,  I'm  sure.  You  are  afraid 
of  something,  Margaret.  Your  nerves  have  been  unstrung. 
I'm  sure  I  don't  wonder  at  it.  I  know  what  it  is  to  lose  one's 
nerve.  I  could  no  more  drive  now,  as  I  used  to  do,  or  go  at  the 
fences  I  used  to  think  nothing  of!  But  once  you  are  married  to 
a  man  like  Mr.  Barton,  who  is  there  can  frighten  you  ?  And  as 
to  being  poor,"  and  Mrs.  St.  John  Deloraine  explained  her  gen* 
erous  views  as  to  arrangements  on  her  part,  which  would  lea; 
Margaret  far  from  portionless. 

Then  Margaret  would  cry  a  little,  and  lay  her  head  on  her 
friend's  shoulder,  and  the  friend  would  shed  some  natural  tears 
for  company;  and  they  would  have  tea,  and  Barton  would  call, 
and  look  a  great  deal  at  his  boots,  and  fidget  with  his  hat. 

"I've  no  patience  with  you,  Mr.  Barton,"  said  Mrs.  St.  John 
Deloraine  at  last,  when  she  had  so  maneuvered  as  to  have  some 
private  conversation  with  him,  and  Barton  had  unpacked  his 
lieart.  "  I've  no  patience  with  you.  Why,  where  is  your  cour 
age?  '  She  has  a  history  ?'  She's  been  persecuted.  Well,  where's 
jour  chivalry  ?  Why  don't  you  try  your  fortune  ?  There  never 
was  a  better  girl,  nor  a  pleasanter  companion  when  she's  not— 
when  she's  not  disturbed  by  the  nervousness  of  an  undecided 
young  man.  If  you  don't  take  your  courage  in  both  hands,  I 
will  carry  Margaret  off  on  a  yachting  voyage  to  the  Solomon 
Islands,  or  Jericho,  or  somewhere.  Look  here,  I  am  going  to 
take  her  for  a  drive  in  Battersea  Park;  it  is  handy,  and  looking 
very  pretty,  and  as  lonely  as  Tadmor  in  the  wilderness.  We  will 
get  out  and  saunter  among  the  ponds.  I  shall  be  tired  and  sit 
down;  you  will  show  Margaret  the  marvels  of  natural  history  in 
the  other  pond,  and  when  you  comeback  you  will  both  have 
made  up  your  minds!" 

With  this  highly  transparent  ruse  Barton  expressed  his  con 
tent.  The  carriage  was  sent  for,  and  in  less  than  half  an  hour 
Barton  and  Margaret  were  standing  alone,  remote,  isolated  from 
the  hum  of  men,  looking  at  a  pond  where  some  water-hens  were 
diving,  while  a  fish  ("  coarse,"  but  not  uninteresting)  occasion 
ally  flopped  on  the  surface.  The  trees — it  waa  the  last  week  of 


THE    MARK    OF    CAIN.  9» 

Kay — were  in  the  earliest  freshness  of  their  foliage;  the  nix,  for 
a  wonder,  was  warm  and  still. 

"How  quiet  and  pretty  it  is!"  said  Margaret,  "Who  would 
think  we  were  in  London  ?" 

Barton  said  nothing.  Like  the  French  parrot,  mentioned  by 
Sir  Walter  Scott,  he  thought  the  more. 

"  Miss  Burnsidel"  he  exclaimed  suddenly,  "  we  have  known 
Bach  other  now  for  some  time." 

This  was  a  self-evident  proposition;  but  Margaret  felt  what 
was  coming,  and  trembled.  She  turned  for  a  moment,  pretend 
ing  to  watch  the  movements  of  one  of  the  water-fowls.  In 
wardly  she  was  nerving  herself  to  faco  the  hard  part  of  her 
duty,  and  to  remind  Barton  of  the  mystery  in  her  life. 

"  Yes,"  she  said  at  last;  "  we  have  known  each  other  for  some 
time,  and  yet— you  know  nothing  about  me." 

With  these  words  she  lifted  her  eyes  and  looked  him  straight 
in  the  face.  There  seemed  a  certain  pride  and  nobility  in  her  he 
had  not  seen  before,  though  her  beautiful  brown  eyes  were 
troubled,  and  there  was  a  mark  of  pain  on  her  brow.  What  was 
she  going  to  tell  him?" 

Barton  felt  his  courage  come  back  to  him. 

"  I  know  one  thing  about  you,  and  that  is  enough  for  me.  I 
know  I  love  you!"  he  said.  Margaret,  can't  you  care  for  me  a 
little  ?  Don't  tell  me  anything  you  think  you  should  not  say. 
I'm  not  curious." 

Margaret  turned  back  again  to  her  inspection  of  the  pOnd  and 
its  inmates,  grasping  the  iron  railing  in  front  of  her  and  gazing 
down  into  the  waters,  so  that  he  could  not  see  her  face. 

"  No,"  she  said  at  last,  in  a  very  low  voice;  "it  would  not  be 

fair."  Then,  after  another  pause,  "  There  is  some  one "  she 

murmured,  and  stopped. 

This  was  the  last  thing  Barton  had  expected.  If  she  did  not 
care  for  him,  he  fancied  she  cared  for  nobody. 

"  If  you  like  some  one  better "  he  was  beginning. 

' '  But  I  don't  like  him  at  all,"  interrupted  Margaret.  "  He  was 
very  kind,  but " 

"  Then  can't  you  like  me  9"  asked  Barton;  and  by  this  time  he 
was  very  near  her,  and  was  looking  down  into  her  face,  as  curi 
ously  as  she  was  still  studying  the  nafraral  history  of  Battersea 
Ponds. 

"  Perhaps  I  should  not;  it  is  so  difficult  to  know,'*  mummrecl 
Margaret. 

And  yet  her  rosy  confusion,  and  beautiful  lowered  eyes, 
tender  and  ashamed,  proved  that  she  knew  very  well.  Love 
is  not  always  so  blind  but  that  Barton  saw  his  opportunity, 
and  was  assured  that  she  had  surrendered.  And  he'prepared, 
a  conqueror,  to  march  in  with  all  the  honors  and  rewards  of  war; 
for  the  place  was  lonely,  and  a  covenant  is  no  covenant  until  it  is 
sealed. 

But  when  he  would  have  kissed  her,  Margaret  disengaged  her- 
eelf  gently,  with  a  little  sigh,  and  returned  to  tha stioug  defensi 
ble  position  by  the  iron  railings. 

**  I  must  tell  you  about  myself,"  she  said.    "  1  have  promi^oal 


90  THE   MARK'  OF    CAIN: 

never  to  tell,  but  I  must.    I  have  been  so  tossec?  about,  and  at 

weak,  and  so  many  things  have  happened." 

And  she  sighed. 

However  impassioned  a  lover  may  be,  he  does  naturally  prefer 
that  there  should  be  no  mystery  p>bout  her  he  adores.  Barton 
had  convinced  himself  (aided  by  the  eloquence  and  reposing  on. 
the  feminine  judgment  of  Mrs.  St.  John  Deloraine)  that  Marga 
ret  could  have  nothing  that  was  wrong  to  conceal.  He  could 
not  look  at  her  frank  eyes  and  kind  face  and  suspect  her;  thongh, 
to  any  one  but  a  lover,  these  natural  advantages  are  no  argu 
ment.  He,  therefore,  prepared  to  gratify  an  extreme  curiosity, 
and,  by  way  of  comforting  and  aiding  Margaret,  was  on  the 
point  of  assuming  an  affectionate  attitude.  But  she  moved  ja 
little  away,  and,  still  turning  toward  the  friendly  ponds,  began 
her  story: 

**  The  person — the  gentleman  whom  I  was  thinking  of  was  a 
friend  of  my  father's,  who,  at  one  time,  wanted  him" — here 
Margaret  paused—"  wanted  me  to— to  be  his  wife  some  day.'* 

The  rapid  imagination  of  Barton  conjured  up  the  figure  of  a 
well- to-do  local  pawnbroker,  or  captain  of  a  trading  vessel,  as 
the  selected  spouse  of  Margaret.  He  fumed  at  the  picture  in  his 
fancy. 

"  I  didn't  like  him  much,  though  he  certainly  was  very  kind. 
His  name — but  perhaps  I  should  not  mention  his  name?" 

"Never  mind,''  said  Barton.  "I  dare  say  I  never  heard  of 
him." 

"  But  I  should  tell  you,  first  of  all,  that  my  own  name  is  not 
that  which  you  and  Mrs.  St.  John  Deloraine  know  me  by.  I 
had  often  intended  to  tell  her;  but  I  have  become  so  frightened 
lately,  and  it  seemed  so  mean  to  be  living  with  her  under  a  false 
name.  But  to  speak  of  it  brought  so  many  terrible  things  back 
to  mind." 

"  Dear  Margaret,"  Barton  whimpered,  taking  her  hand. 

They  were  both  standing,  at  this  moment,  with  their  backs  to 
the  patnway,  and  an  observer  might  have  thought  that  they 
were  greatly  interested  in  the  water-fowl. 

"  My  name  is  not  Burnside,"  Margaret  went  on,  glancing  over 
her  shoulder  across  the  gardens  and  toward  the  river;  "my 
name  is " 

"Daisy  Shields!"  cried  a  clear  voice.  "Daisy,  you're  found 
at  last,  and  I've  found  you!  How  glad  Miss  Marlett  will  be!" 

But  by  this  time  the  astonished  Barton  beheld  Margaret  in  the 
impassioned  embrace  of  a  very  pretty  and  highly -excited  young 
lady;  while  Mrs.  St.  John  Deloraine,  who  was  with  her,  gazed 
with  amazement  in  her  eyes. 

"  Oh,  my  dear!"  Miss  Harman  (for  it  was  that  enthusiast)  hur 
ried  on,  in  a  pleasant  flew  of  talk,  like  a  brook,  with  pleasant 
interruptions.  "  Oh,  my  dear!  I  was  walking  in  the  park  with 
my  maid,  and  I  met  Mrs.  St.  John  Deloraine,  and  she  said  she 
had  lost  her  friends,  and  I  came  to  help  her  to  look  for  them; 
and  I've  found  you !  It's  like  Stanley  finding  Livingstone. 
*  How  I  Found  Daisy.'  I'll  write  a  book  about  it.  And  where 
have  you  been  hiding  yourself  ?  None  of  the  girls  evss  knew 


THE   MARK    OF   CAIN.  «7 

tmytlilng  was  the  matter — only  Miss  Marlett  and  me!  And  Fve 
ieft,  for  good;  and  she  and  I  are  quite  friends,  and  I'm  to  be  pre 
sented  next  drawing-room." 

While  this  address  (which,  at  least,  proved  that  Margaret  had 
acquaintances  in  the  highest  circles)  was  being  poured  forth, 
Mrs.  St.'  John  Delorains  and  Barton  were  observing  all  with  un- 
f signed  astonishment  and  concern. 

They  both  perceived  that  the  mystery  of  Margaret's  past  was 
about  to  be  dispelled,  or  rather,  for  Barton,  it  already  was  dis 
pelled.  The  names  of  Shields  and  Miss  Marlett  had  told  him  all 
that  lie  needed  to  know.  But  he  would  rather  have  heard  the 
whole  story  from  his  lady's  lips;  and  Mrs.  St.  John  Deloraine 
was  mentally  accusing  Janey  Harman  of  having  interrupted  a 
"  proposal,"  and  spoiled  a  darling  scheme. 

It  was  therefore  with  a  certain  most  unfamiliar  sharpness  that 
Mrs.  St.  John  Deloraine,  observing  that  the  day  was  clouded 
over,  requested  Margaret  to  return  to  the  carriage. 

««  And  as  Miss  Harman  seems  to  have  a  great  deal  to  say  to 
you,  Margaret,"  added  the  philanthropic  lady,  "you  two  had 
better  walk  on  as  fast  as  you  can;  for  you  must  be  very  careful 
not  to  catch  cold!  I  see  Miss  Harman's  maid  waiting  for  her  in 
the  distance  there.  And  you  and  I,  Mr.  Barton,  if  you  will  give 
me  your  arm,  will  follow  slower;  I'm  not  a  good  walker." 

"  Now"  said  Barton's  companion,  eagerly,  when  Margaret  and 
Janey,  about  three  yards  in  advance,  might  be  conventionally 
regarded  as  beyond  earshot—  "Now,  Mr.  Barton,  am  I  to  con 
gratulate  you?" 

Barton  gave  a  little  shamefaced  laugh,  uneasily. 

"  I  don't  know— I  hope  so — I'm  not  sure," 

"  Oh,  you're  not  satisfactory— not  at  all  satisfactory.  Are  you 
still  shilly-shallying  ?  What  is  the  matter  with  young  people  ?" 
cried  the  veteran  of  twenty-nine.  "Or  was  it  that  wretched 
Janey,  rushing  in,  like  a  cow  in  a  conservatory  ?  She's  a  regu 
lar  schoolgirl!" 

0  "  It  isn't  that  exactly,  or  at  least  that's  not  all.    I  hope— I 

1  think  she  does  care  for  me,  or  will  care  for  me,  a  little.'* 

4  "  Oh,  bother!"  said  Mrs.  St.  John  Deloraine.  She  would  not, 
i  for  all  the  world,  reveal  the  secrets  of  the  confessional,  and  tell 
Barton  what  she  knew  of  the  state  of  Margaret's  heart.  But  she 
I  was  highly  provoked,  and  showed  it  in  her  manners,  at  no  time 
i_  applauded  for  their  repose. 

"  The  fact  is,"  Barton  admitted,  "  that  I'm  so  taken  by  sur 
prise  I  hardly  know  where  I  am!  I  do  think,  if  I  may  say 
so  without  seeming  conceited,  that  I  have  every  reason  to  be 
happy.  But  just  as  she  was  beginning  to  tell  me  about  herself, 
that  young  lady,  who  seems  to  have  known  her  at  school,  rushed 
in  and  explained  the  whole  mystery." 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  St.  John  Deloraine,  turning  a  little  pale  ant! 
looking  anxiously  at  Barton,  "  was  it  anything  so  very  dreadful  T 
"She  called  her  Daisy  Shields,''  said  Barton. 
"Well,  suppose  she  didl    I  always  fancied,  after  what  hap- 
at  the  Bunhouse,  that  that  dreadful  Mr.  Cranley  sent  Let 


IB  THE   MARK    OF   CAIN. 

to  me  under  a  false  name.    It  was  not  her  fault.    The  question  f% 
What  was  her  reason  for  keeping  her  real  name  concealed  ?" 

«'  That's  what  I'm  coming  to,"  said  Barton.  "  I  hare  a  friend. 
A  Mr.  Maitland." 

"  Mr.  Maitland  of  St.  Gatien'sr  asked  the  widow. 

'*  Yes." 
&" /know  him." 

"  Yes,  I  have  often  heard  him  speak  of  you,"  said  Barton. 
*'  Well,  he  had  a  protegee— a  kind  of  ward,  to  tell  a  long  story 
in  few  words— a  girl  whom  he  had  educated,  and  whom  he  was 
under  some  kind  of  promise  to  her  father  to  marry.  The  fa 
ther  died  suddenly;  the  girl  disappeared  mysteriously  from 
school  at  the  same  moment;  and  Maitland,  after  many  efforts, 
has  never  been  able  to  find  out  anything  about  her.  INOW,  this 
girl's  name,  this  girl  in  whom  my  friend  was  interested,  was 
Margaret  Shields.  That  is  the  very  name  by  which  your  friend, 
Miss  Harman,  called  Margaret.  So,  you  see,  even  if  I  am  right, 
and  if*  she  does  care  for  me,  what  a  dreadful  position  I  am  in  I 
I  want  to  marry  the  girl  to  whom  my  friend  is,  more  or  less,  en 
gaged!  My  friend,  after  doing  his  best  to  find  his  ward,  and 
after  really  suffering  a  great  deal  of  anxiety  and  annoyance,  is 
living  abroad.  What  am  I  to  say  to  him  ?" 

"  Mr.  Barton,"  said  Mrs.  St.  John  Deloraine,  "  perhaps  you 
alarm  yourself  too  much.  I  think  " — here  she  dropped  her  voice 
a  little— "I  think— I  don't  think  Mr.  Maitland's  heart  is  very 
deeply  concerned  about  Miss  Shields.  I  may  be  wrong,  but  i 
know  him  pretty  well" — she  gave  a  little  nervous  laugh — "  and 
I  don't  think  he's  in  love  with  Margaret." 

By  the  time  she  reached  the  end  of  this  interrupted  and  tenta 
tive  discourse,  Mrs.  St.  John  Deloraine  was  blushing  like  a  rose 
in  June. 

Barton  felt  an  enormous  weight  lifted  from  his  heart,  and  a 
flood  of  welcome  light  j>oured  into  hia  mind.  The  two  philan 
thropists  were  in  love  with  each  other! 

"  He's  an  awfully  good  fellow,  Maitland,"  he  replied.  "  But 
you  are  right;  I'm  sure  you  are  right.  You  must  know.  He  is 
not  in  love  with  Margaret." 

Mrs.  St.  John  Deloraine  seemed  not  displeased  at  the  tribute 
to  Maitland's  unobtrusive  virtues,  and  replied: 

*'  But  he  will  be  very  glad  to  hear  that  she  is  found  at  last, 
and  quite  safe;  and  I'll  write  to  him  myself,  this  very  evening. 
I  heard  from  him— about  a  charity,  you  know — a  few  days  ago, 
and  I  have  hi3  address." 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  the  carriage.  Janey,  with 
many  embraces,  tore  herself  from  Margaret,  and  went  off  with 
her  attendant;  while  Mrs.  St.  John  Deloraine,  with  a  beaming 
face,  gave  the  coachman  the  order  "  Home," 

"We  shall  see  you  to-morrow  at  luncheon,"  she  cried  to 
Barton;  and  no  offer  of  hospitality  had  ever  been  more  welcome. 

He  began  to  walk  home,  turning  over  his  discoveries  in  his 
thoughts,  when  he  suddenly  came  to  a  dead  halt. 

"  Bv  George!"  he  said  out  loud;  "  I'll  go  back  and  have  it  ou4 
with  her  at  once.  I've  had  enough  of  this  shilly-shally." 


THE    MARK    OF    CAIN.  "  90>; 

Ke  turned  and  strode  off  in  the  direction  of  Cheyne  Walk* 
In  a  few  minutes  he  was  standing  at  the  familiar  door. 

"  Will  you  ask  Miss— Miss  Burnside  if  she  can  see  me  for  one  : 
moment?''  he  caid  to  the  servant.  "I  have  forgotten  some  ' 
thing  she  wished  me  to  do  for  her,"  he  added  in  a  mumble. 

Then  he  was  taken  ifcto  the  boudoir,  and  presently  Margaret  , 
appeared,  still  in  her  bonnet  and  furs. 

"  I  couldn't  help  coming  back,  Margaret,"  he  said,  as  soon  as 
ehe  entered  the  room.     *'  I  want  to  tell  you  that  it  is  all  right,,  j 
that  you  needn't  think — I  mean,  that  I  know  all  about  it,  and  ; 
that  there  is  nothing,  nothing  to  prevent  us — I  mean,  Margaret, 

,  if  you  really  care  for  me "    Then  he  came  to  a  dead  stop.'       ' 

I      It  was  not  a  very  easy  situation.     Barton  could  not  exactly 
:.  Bay  to  Margaret,  "  My  dear  girl,  you  need  not  worry  yourself 

!  about  Maitland.  He  does  not  care  a  pin  for  you;  he'll  be  de 
lighted  at  being,  released.  He  is  in  love  with  Mrs.  St.  Joha 
Delcraine." 
That  would  have  been  a  statement  both  adequate  and  explicit; 
but  it  could  not  have  been  absolutely  flattering  to  Margaret,  and 
it  would  have  been  exceedingly  unfair  to  her  hostess. 

The  girl  came  forward  to  the  table,  and  stood  with  her  hand 
on  it,  looking  at  Barton.  She  did  not  help  him  out  in  any  way; 
her  attitude  was  safe,  but  embarrassing. 

Re  made  a  charge,  as  it  were,  at  the  position— a  random,  des 
perate  charge. 

"  Margaret,  can  you  trust  me?"  he  asked. 

She  merely  put  out  her  hand,  which  he  seized. 

"  Well,  then,  believe  me  when  I  tell  you  that  I  know  every* 
thing  about  your  doubts;  that  I  know  more  than  any  one  else 
can  do;  and  that  there  is  nothing  to  prevent  us  from  being  happy, 
More  than  that,  if  you  will  only  agree  to  make  me  happy,  you 
will  make  every  one  else  happy  too.  Can  you  take  it  on' 'trust  ? 
Can't  you  believe  ine?" 

Margaret  said  nothing;  but  ehe  hid  her  face  on  Barton's 
shoulder.  She  did  believe  him. 

The  position  was  carried! 

;  CHAPTER  XY. 

THE  MASK  OF  CAIN. 

NEXT  morning  Barton  entered  his  Bitting- room  in  very  high 
Spirits,  and  took  up  his  letters.     He  had  written  to  Maitland  the 
]  night  before,  saying  little  but,  "  Come  home  at  once.     Margaret  ' 
|  is  found.     She  is  going  to  be  my  wife.     You  can't  come  too 
j  quickly,  if  you  wish  to  hear  of  something  very  much  to  your  ad 
vantage."    A  load  was  off  his  mind,  and  he  felt  as  Romeo  did 
just  before  the  bad  news  about  Juliet  reached  him. 

In  this  buoyant  disposition,  Barton  opened  his  letters.  The 
first  was  in  a  hand  he  knew  very  well— that  of  a  man  who  had 
been  his  fellow-student  in  Paris  and  Vienna,  and  who  was  now  a 
prosperous  young  physician.  The  epistle  ran  thus:  j 

"  DEAR  BABTON, — I'm  off  to  the  west  of  Ireland,  for  a  fort 
night  People  are  pretty  fit,  as  the  season  has  not  run  f ax*  j 


100  THE    MARK    OF    OAIW. 

Most  of  my  patients  have  not  yet  systematically  over-eaten  then*,, 
selves.  I  want  you  to  do  something  for  me.  Martin  &  Wright, 
the  lawyers,  have  a  queer  little  bit  of  medical  jurisprudence, 
about  which  young  Wright,  who  was  at  Oriel  in  our  time,  asksd 
my  opinion.  I  recommended  him  to  see  you,  as  it  is  more  in 
your  line;  and  my  line  will  presently  be  attached  to  that  emi 
nent  general  practitioner,  '  The  Blue  Doctor.'  May  he  prosper 
with  ths  Galway  salmon!  Thine, 

"  ALFHSD  FRANKS." 

"  Lucky  beggar!"  thought  Barton  to  himself,  but  he  was  too 
happy  to  envy  even  a  man  who  had  a  fortnight  of  salmon-fish 
ing  before  him. 

The  next  letter  he  opened  was  in  a  blue  envelope,  with  the 
stamD  of  Messrs.  Martin  &  Wright.  The  brief  and  formal  note 
whicli  it  contained  requested  Dr.  Barton  to  call,  that  very  day  if 
possible,  at  the  chambers  of  the  respectable  firm,  on  "  business 
of  great  importance.'' 

'*  What  in  the  world  can  they  want?"  thought  Barton.  "No* 
body  can  have  left  me  any  money.  Besides,  Franks  says  it  is  a 
point  in  medical  jurisprudence.  That  sounds  attractive,  I'll  ga 
down  after  breakfast." 

He  walked  along  the  sunny  embankment,  and  that  bright 
prospect  of  houses,  trees,  and  ships  have  never  seemed  so  beau 
tiful.  In  an  hour  he  was  in  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields,  and  had  shaken 
hands  with  young  Wright,  whom  he  knew;  had  been  introduced 
to  old  Wright,  a  somewhat  stately  man  of  business,  and  had 
taken  his  seat  in  the?  chair  sacred  to  clients. 

" Dr.  Barton,"  said  old  Mr.  Wright,  solemnly,  "you  are,  I 
think,  the  author  of  this  book  ?"  * 

He  handed  to  Barton  a  copy  of  his  own  volume,  in  its  gray 
paper  cover,  "Les  Tatouages  Etude  Medico-Legale." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Barton.  "  I  wrote  it  when  I  was  in  Paris. 
I  had  plenty  of  chances  of  studing  tattooing  in  the  military 
hospitals." 

"  I  have  not  read  it  myself,"  said  old  Mr.  Wright,  "  because  I 
am  not  acquainted  with  the  French  language;  but  my  son  tells 
me  it  is  a  work  of  great  learning." 

Barton  could  only  bow  and  mutter  that  ho  was  glad  Mr. 
Wright  liked  it.  Why  he  should  like  it,  or  what  the  old  gentle* 
man  wanted,  he  could  not  even  imagine. 

"  We  are  at  present  engaged  in  a  very  curious  case,  Dr.  Bar 
ton,"  went  on  the  lawyer,  "in  which  we  think  your:;" special 
studies  may  assist  us.  The  position  is  this:  Nearly  eight  months 
afjo  a  client  of  ours  died,  a  Mr.  Richard  Johnson,  of  Linkheaton, 
in  the  north.  You  must  excuse  ine  if  I  seem  to  be  troubling 
you  with  a  long  story  ?" 

Barton  mentioned  that  he  was  delighted,  and  added,  "  Not  at 
all,"  in  the  vague  modern  dialect. 

"This  Mr.  Richard  Johnson,  then,  was  a  somewhat  singular 
character.  He  was  what  is  called  a  '  statesman '  in  the  north. 
He  had  a  small  property  of  about  four  hundred  acres,  on  the 
marches,  as  they  say,  or  hoarders  of  the  Earl  of  Birkenha^f & 


THE   MARK    OF    CAIN.  101 

lands.  Here  he  lived  almost  alone,  and  in  a  very  quiet  war. 
There  was  not  even  a  village  near  him,  and  there  were  few  per- 
irons  of  his  own  position  in  life,  because  his  little  place  was  al 
most  embedded,  if  I  may  say  so,  in  Lord  Birkenhead's  country, 
which  is  pastoral.  You  are  with  me,  so  f ai*  ?" 

"  Perfectly,"  said  Barton.  •  •'. ;  ;  "»,.* 

"This  Mr.  Johnson,  then,  lived  quite  afon'ef  with  a*nbld  hcfas^ 
keeper,  dead  since  his  decease,  and  with*or,e  snn,<cal*e,d .Richer,'?,- 
like  himself.  The  young  man  was  of 'anaflvehtuHfis'.chai^iotcf, 
a  nerer-do-weel  in  fact;  and  abou  t  twenty  'years  Jago  he  left  Link-' 
heat-on,  after  a  violent  quarrel  with  his  father.  It  was  under 
stood  that  he  had  run  away  to  sea.  Two  years  later  he  returned ; 
there  was  another  quarrel,  and  the  old  man  turned  him  out, 
'  vowing  that  he  would  never  forgive  him.  But,  not  long  after 
that,  a  very  rich  deposit  of  coal — a  very  lich  deposit/'  said  Mr. 
Wright,  with  the  air  of  a  man  tasting  most  excellent  claret-  • 
"  was  discovered  on  this  very  estate  of  Linkheaton.  Old  John 
son,  without  much  exeition  on  his  part,  and  simply  through  th* 
payment  of  royalties  by  the  company  that  worked  the  coal,  be 
came  exceedingly  opulent,  in  what  you  call  most  affluent  cir* 
cunistances." 

Here  Mr.  Wright  paused,  as  if  to  see  whether  Barton  was  be» 
ginning  to  understand  the  point  of  the  narrative,  which,  it  i* 
needless  to  remark,  he  was  not.  There  is  no  marked  connection 
between  coal  mines,  however  lucrative,  and  "Les  Tatouages, 
Etude  Medico-Legale." 

"  In  spite  of  his  wealth,  Mr.  Johnson  in  no  way  changed  his 
fcabits.  He  invested  his  money  carefully,  under  our  advice,  and 
he  became,  as  I  said,  an  extremely  warm  man.  But  he  con 
tinued  to  live  in  the  old  farm-house,  and  did  not,  in  any  way, 
court  society.  To  tell  the  truth,  except  Lord  Birkenhead,  who 
is  our  client,  I  never  knew  any  one  who  was  at  all  intimate 
•with  the  old  man.  Lord  Birkenhead  had  a  respect  for  him  as 
a  neighbor  and  a  person  of  the  old-fashioned  type.  Yes,"  Mr. 
Wright  added,  seeing  that  his  son  was  going  to  speak,  "  and,  as 
you  were  about  to  say,  Tom,  they  were  brought  together  by  a 
common  misfortune.  Like  old  Mr.  Johnson,  his  lordship  has  a 
son  who  is  very,  very— unsatisfactory.  His  lordship  has  not 
seen  the  Honorable  Mr.  Thomas  Cranley  for  many  years:  and  in 
that  lonely  country  the  two  boys  had  been  companions  in  wild 
amusements,  long  before.  He  is  vei*y  unsatisfactory,  the  Hon- 
:  orable  Thomas  Cranley;"  and  Mr.  Wright  sighed  heavily,  in. 

sympathy  with  a  client  so  noble  and  so  afflicted. 
•,      "I  know  the  beast,"  said  Barton,  without  reflecting. 

Mr.  Wright  looked  at  him  in  amazement  and  horror.  "  Th$ 
beast!1'  A  son  of  Lord  Birkenhead's  called  "  The  beast!" 

"To  return  to  our  case,  Dr.  Barton,"  he  went  on  severely, 
with  some  stress  laid  on  the  doctor.  "  Mr.  Johnson  died,  leav 
ing,  by  a  will  made  on  his  death-bed,  all  that  he  possessed  to  hi-* 
«on  Richard,  01,  in  case  of  his  decease,  to  the  heirs  of  his  bod;/ 
Awfully  begotten.  From  that  day  to  this  we  have  hunted 
liere  for  the  man.  We  have  traced  him  all  over  tin? 
we  have  heard  of  him  in  Australia,  Burmah,  Guiana* 


10$  THE   MARK    OF    CAIN. 

Smyrna,  but  at  Smyrna  we  lost  sight  of  him.  This 
m en t,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  taking  up  the  outside  sheet  of 
the  Times,  and  folding  it  so  as  to  bring  the  second  column  into 
view,  "  remained  for  more  than  seven  months  unanswered,  or 
only  answered  by  impostors  and  idiots." 

He  tapped  isis  fkigej  on  the  place  as  he  handed  the  paper  to 
Barton,  who  read  aloud: 


r, — If  Richard  Johnson,  of  Linkheaton,  Durham, 
last  heard  of  at  Smyrna  in  1875,  will  apply  to  Messrs.  Martin 
&  Wright,  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields,  he  will  hear  of  spmethrng  very 
greatly  to  his  advantage.  His  father  died,  forgiving  him.  A 
reward  of  £1000  will  be  paid  to  any  one  producing  Richard  John- 
eon,  or  proving  his  decease." 

"  As  a  mixture  of  business  with  the,  home  affections/*  said  old 
Mr.  Wright  proudly  (for  the  advertisement  was  of  his  own  com 
position),  "1  think  that  leaves  little  to  be  desired." 

"It  is  admirable,"  said  Barton — "admirable;  bu&  oaay  V 
ask " 

"Where  the  tattooing  comes  in?"  said  Mr.  Wright,  J:  I  am 
just  approaching  that.  The  only  person  from  whom  we  re 
ceived  any  reliable  information  about  Richard  Johnson  waa  an 
old  shipmate  of  his,  a  wandering,  adventurous  character,  now> 
I  believe,  in  Paraguay,  where  we  cannot  readily  communicate 
with  him.  According  to  his  account,  Johnson  was  an  ordinary- 
seafaring  man,  tanned,  and  wearing  a  black  beard,  but  easily  to 
be  recognized  for  an  excellent  reason.  He  was  tattooed  almost 
all  over  his  whole  fcoc?7/." 

Barton  nearly  leaped  out  of  his  chair,  the  client's  chair,  so 
eudden  a  light  flashed  on  him. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Dr.  Barton!  I  thought  I  should  •  In  wrest 
you;  but  you  seem  quite  excited." 

"  I  really  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Barton.  "  It  was  automatic, 
I  think;  besides,  I  am  extremely  interested  in  tattooing/9 

"  Then,  sir,  it  is  a  pity  you  could  not  have  seen  Johnson .  He 
appears,  from  what  our  informant  tells  us,  to  have  been  a  most 
remarkable  specimen.  He  had  been  tattooed  by  Australia* 
blacks,  bv  Burmese,  by  Arabs,  and  in  a  peculiar  blue  tint  and  to 
a  particular  pattern,  by  the  Dyacks  of  Borneo.  We  havo  here  a 
rough  chart,  drawn  by  our  informant,  of  liis  principal  decora 
tions." 

Here  the  lawyer  solemnly  unrolled  a  great  sheet  of  drawing* 

Eaper,  on  which  was  rudely  outlined  the  naked  figure  of  a  man, 
lied  up,  on  the  breast,  thighs,  and  arms,  with  ornamental  d«- 
eigns. 

The  guess  which  made  Barton  leap  up  had  not  been  mistaken?  • 
he  recognized  the  tattooings  he  liad  seen  on  the  dead  body  of 
Dicky  Shields, 

This  confirmation  of  what  he  had  conjectured,  however,  did 
not  draw  any  exclamation  or  mark  of  excitement  from  Barton, 
who  was  now  en  his  guard. 

"This  is  highly  interesting,"  he  said,  as  he  examined  th* 
diagram;  "  and  I*  am  sure,  Mr.  Wright,  that  it  should  not  t* 


THE   MARK    Of   C*SN.  103 

dilftcuH.  to  recognize  a  claimant  with  suck  remarkable  peculiari 
ties." 

"  No,  sir;  it  is  easy  enough,  and  we  have  been  able  to  dismiss 
scores  of  sham  Richard  Johnsons,  But  one  man  presented  him 
self  the  day  before  yesterday — a  rough  sailor  fellow,  who  went 
straight  to  the  point;  asked  if  the  man  we  wanted  had  any 
private  marks;  said  he  knew  what  they  were,  and  showed  us  his 
wrist,  which  exactly,  as  far  as  we  could  verify  the  design,  cor* 
respOJGcEed  to  that  drawing." 

"  "Well,"  asked  Barton,  controlling  his  excitement  by  a  great 
effort,  *'  what  did  you  do  with  him?" 

"  We  said  to  him  that  it  would  be  necessary  to  take  the  advisa 
of  an  expert  before  we  could  make  any  movement;  and,  though 
he  told  us  things  about  old  Johnson  and  Linkheaton,  which  ife 
seemed  almost  impossible  that  any  one  but  the  right  man  could 
have  known,  we  put  him  off  till  we  had  eeen  you,  and  could 
make  an  appointment  for  you  to  examine  the  tattooings.  They 
must  fee  dealt  with  first,  before  any  other  identification." 

"I  grapposo  you  have  made  some  other  necessary  inquiries? 
Did  he  say  why  he  was  so  late  in  answering  the  advertisement? 
It  has  been  out  for  several  months." 

"  Yee.  and  that  is  rather  in  his  favor,"  said  Mr.  Wright.  "  If 
he  had  been  an  impostor  on  the  lookout  he  would  probably  have 
come  to  us  long  ago.  But  he  has  just  returned  from  the  Cape, 
where  fee  had  been  out  of  the  way  of  newspapers,  and  he  did  not 
see  the  advertisement  till  he  came  across  it  three  or  four  days 
ago.'* 

"  Very  well,"  said  Barton.  "Make  an  appointment  with  the 
man  for  any  time  to-morrow,  and  I  will  be  with  you." 

As  fee  eaid  this  hs  looked  very  hard  and  significantly  at  the 
younger  Mr.  Wright. 

*•  \erygood,  sir;  thank  you.  Shall  we  say  at  noon  to-mor 
row?* 

"  With  pleasure,"  answered  Barton,  still  with  his  eye  on  the 
younger  partner. 

He  iben  said  good-bye,  and  was  joined,  as  he  had  hoped,  in 
the  outer  office  by  young  Wright. 

"  Yon  had  something  to  say  to  me?"  asked  the  junior  member 
ef  the  firm. 

"Several  things,"  said  Barton,  smiling.  "And  first,  would 
you  mind  finding  out  whether  the  coast  is  clear— whether  any 
one  is  watching  for  me?" 

* '  Watching  for  you!    What  do  you  mean  ?* 

*'  J*ist  take  a  look  round  the  square,  and  tell  me  whether  any 
•UBpickms  character  is  about." 

Yc&ng  Wright,  much  puzzled,  put  on  his  hat,  and  stood  light 
ing  a  cigarette  on  the  outer  steps. 

**  Net  a  soul  in  sight  but  lawyers'  clerks,"  he  reported. 

"  Very  well;  just  tell  vour  father  that,  as  it  id  a  fine 
you  «te  taking  a  turn  with  me." 

Barton's  friend  did  as  he  wished,  and  presently  the  pait  had 


104  THE    MARK    OF 

"  Til  do  exactly  as  you  suggest,  and  explain  to  my  father.* 
enid  the  young  lawyer  as  they  separated. 

"Thanks;  it  is  so  much  easier  for  you  to  explain  than  fora 
stranger  like  myself,"  said  Barton,  and  strolled  westward  by 
way  of  Co  vent  Garden. 

At  the  noted  establishment  of  Messrs.  Aminadab,  theatrical 
costumers,  Barton  stopped,  went  in,  was  engaged  some  tima 
with  the  Messrs.  Aminadab,  and  finally  had  a  cab  called  for  him, 
and  drove  home  with  a  pretty  bulky  parcel. 

*  *  *  »;•*•;«  *  * 

At  five  minutes  past  twelve  on  the  following  day,  a  tall,  burly, 
mahogany-colored  mariner,  attired,  for  the  occasion,  in  a  frock-  i 
coat  and  hat,  appeared  in  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields.     He  seemed  to  be  * 
but  ill  acquainted  with  those  coasts,  and  mooned  about  for  some 
minutes  before  he  reached  the  door  of  Messrs.  Wright.    Then 
lie  rang,  the  door  was  opened,  and  he  was  admitted  into  the 
presence  of  the  partners. 

••'  1  have  come,  gentlemen,  in  answer  to  your  letter,"  he  said 
with  a  northern  burr,  bowing  awkwardly,  and  checking  a  dis 
position  to  salute  by  touching  his  forelock. 

His  eyes  wandered  round  the  room,  where  he  saw  no  one  but 
the  partners,  with  whom  lie  was  already  acquainted,  and  a  for 
eign-looking  gentleman — a  gentleman  with  hay -colored  hair,  a 
soft  hat,  spectacles,  and  a  tow-cplored  beard.  He  had  a  mild, 
short-sighted  expression,  a  pasty  complexion,  and  the  air  of  one 
who  smoked  too  much. 

"  Good-morning,  Mr. — h'ra — Mr.  Johnson,"  said  old  Mr. 
Wright.  "  As  we  told  you,  sir,  we  have,  as  a  necessary  pre« 
liminary  to  the  inquiry,  "requested  Professor  Lieblein  to  step  in 
and  inspect — h'm — the  personal  marks  of  which  you  spoke. 
Professor' Lieblein,  of  Bonn,  is  a  great  authority  on  these  mat 
ters — author  of  'Die  Tattuirung,'  a  very  learned  work,  I  am 
told." 

Thus  introduced,  the  professor  bowed. 

"  Glad  to  meet  you,  sir,"  said  the  sailor-man  gruffly,  "or  any 
gentleman  as  really  knows  what's  what." 

"  You  have  been  a  great  traveler,  sir?"  said  the  learned  profes 
sor,  whose  Tsutomc  accent  it  is  superfluous  to  reproduce.  "  You 
have  in  many  lands  traveled?  So!" 

"  Yes,  sir;  I  have  seen  the  world." 

"  And  you  are  much  tattooed;  it  is  to  me  very  interesting* 
You  have  by  many  races  been  decorated  ?" 

"  Most  niggers  have  had  a  turn  at  me,  sir!" 

"  How  happy  you  are  to  have  had  such  experiences!  Now, 
the  Burmese— ah!  have  you  any  little  Burmese  marks?" 

"  Yes,  sir;  from  the  elbow  to  the  shoulder,"  replied  the  sea 
faring  man.  "  Saving  your  presence,  I'll  strip  to  the  buff." 

"  The  buff  J  What  is  that  ?  Oh,  thank  you,  sir,"  this  was  in 
reply  to  young  Mr.  Wright.  "  The  naked  body!  why,  buff! 
4  Buff/  the  abstract  word,  the  actual  stuff,  the  very  wesen  of 
man  unclothed.  *  Buffer.'  the  concrete  man,  in  the  '  buff,"  ia 
the  flesh;  it  is  sehr  interessan-zs- 

Wkilv  the  learned  professor  muttered  these  metaphysical  ana 


THE    MARK    OF   CAIN.  19* 

philological  reflections,  the  seaman  was  stripping  himself  to  th« 
waist. 

"  That's  the  Burmese  style,  sir,"  he  said,  pointing  to  his  shoul 
ders  and  upper  n.rin. 

These  limbs  were  tattooed  in  a  beautiful  soft  blue;  the  pattern 
was  a  series  of  diminishing  squares,  from  which  long  narrow 
triangles  ran  down  to  the  elbow- joints. 

"  -Sehr  schcn,  selt-r  schon"  exclaimed  the  delighted  professor. 
*'  It  is  very  hubsch,  very  pretty,  very  well.  We  cannot  now 
decorate,  we  Germans,  Ach,  it  is  mournful  I"  and  he  sighed. 
**  And  now,  sir,  have  you  to  show  me  any  moko  ?  A  little  moko 
would  be  very  instructive." 

"Moko?  Rather!  The  Maori  pattern,  you  mean;  the  Nevr 
Ecaland  dodge  ?  Just  look  between  my  shoulders,"  and  the  sea- 
mpn  turned  a  broad  bare  back,  whereon  were  designs  of  curious 
Irfoluted  spirals. 

"  Tiiat  is  right,  that  is  right,"  whispered  the  professor.  "  MoJw, 
Qsihlange,  serpent-marks,  so  they  call  it  in  their  tongue.  Better 
fcto&O,  on  an  European  man,  have  I  never  seen.  You  observe," 
Sse  remarked  to  the  elder  Mr.  Wright,  waving  his  hand  as  he 
followed  the  tattooed  lines — "  you  observe  the  serpentine  curves? 
Very  beautiful.'" 

"  Extremely  interesting,"  said  Mr.  Wright,  who,  being  no 
Anthropologist,  seemed  nervous  and  uncomfortable." 

"  Corresponds,  too,  with  the  marks  in  the  picture,"  he  added, 
comparing  the  sketch  of  the  original  Shields  with  the  body  of 
the  claimant. 

"  Are  you  satisfied  now,  governor?"  asked  the  sailor. 

"  One  little  moment.  Have  you  on  the  Red  Sea  coast  been  ? 
Have  you  been  at  Suakini  ?  Have  you  any  Arab  markings  ?" 

"Oh,  yes;  here  you  are!"  and  the  voyager  pointed  to  bis 
breast. 

The  professor  inspected,  with  unconcealed  delight,  some  small 
tattooirigs  of  irregular  form. 

"  It  is,  it  is,"  he  cried,  "the  wasm,  the  sharat*  the  Semitic 
tribal  mark,  the  mark  with  which  the  Arab  tribes  brand  their 
cattle!  Of  old  time  they  did  tattoo  it  on  their  bodies.  The 
learned  Herr  Professor  Robertson  Smith,  in  his  lecdle  book,  do 
you  know  what  he  calls  that  very  mark,  niy  dear  sir?" 

"  Not  I,"  said  the  sailor;  "  I'm  no  scholar." 

"  He  says  it  was— I  do  not  say  lie  is  right,"  cried  the  professor, 
in  a  loud  voice,  pointing  a  finger  at  his  victim's  breast—"  he  , 
cays  it  was  TEE  MARK  OF  CAIN!" 

The  sailor,  beneath  his  mahogany  tan,  turned  a  livid  white,  j 
and  grasped  at  a  bookcase  by  which  he  stood.  ', 

"  What  do  you  mean?"  he  cried,  through  his  chattering  teeth; 
"  what  do  you  mean  with  your  damned  Hebrew-Dutch  and  your 

*  Sharat  or  Shart.—"  The  Mart  was  IB  old  times  a  tattooed  mark.  *  *  * 
Ip  the  patriarchal  story  of  Cain  *  *  *  the  institution  of  blood  revenge 
y  connected  with  a*  mark  f  which  Jehovah  appoints  to  Cain.    Can  tmf 
tee  anything  else  than  the  shart,  or  tribal  mark,  which  every  man  bore  oa  - 
feie  person  1" — ROBBUTSOM  SMITH,  A'i/ts/tip  in  Ancient  J.ruWa,  p.  215, 


THE    MARK    OF    CAIN. 

ot  Cain !  The  mark's  all  right!  A  H*clendowa  woman 
did  it  in  Suakim  years  ago.  Ain't  it  on  that  chart  of  youra  ?" 

*'  Certainly,  good  sir;  it  is,"  answered  the  professor.  *'  WhT 
do  you  so  agitate  yourself?  The  proof  is  complete  P  ht>  aidecf, 
etili  pointing  at  the  sailor's  breast. 

"  Then  I'll  put  on  my  togs,  with  your  leave;  it's  aoae  so 
warm!"  grumbled  the  man. 

He  had  so  far  completed  his  dressing  that  he  was  in  ka  waist 
coat,  and  was  just  looking  round  for  his  coat. 

"Stop!"  said  the  professor.  "  Hold  Mr.  Johnson's  coat  for  a 
*noinent!" 

This  was  to  young  Wright,  who  laid  his  hands  on  the  garment 
in  question. 

"You  must  be  tired,  sir,"  said  the  professor,  in  a  v-3?y  soft 
voice.  "  May  I  offer  you  a  leedle  cigarette?" 

He  drew  from  his  pocket  a  silver  cigarette-case,  aa<4.  In  a 
thoroughly  English  accent,  he  went  on: 

"  I  have  waited  long  to  give  you  back  your  cigarette-case, 
which  you  left  at  your  club,  Mr.  Thomas  Cranley!" 

The  sailor's  eye  fell  on  it.  He  dashed  the  silver  box  vsolaotly 
to  the  ground,  and  trampled  on  it,  then  he  made  one  rush  at  his 
coat. 

"  Hold  it!  hold  it!"  cried  Barton,  laying  aside  his  Teufoak;  ac 
cent — "  hold  it:  there's  a  revolver  in  the  pocket!" 

But  there  was  no  need  to  struggle  for  the  coat, 

The  sailor  had  suddenly  staggered  and  fallen,  a  crumytad  but 
not  unconscious  mass,  on  the  floor. 

"  Call  in  the  police!"  said  Barton.  "  They'll  have  m  .  diffi 
culty  in  taking  him." 

"This  is  the  man  against  whom  you  have  the  warrant,"  h» 
went  on,  as  young  Wright  opened  the  door  and  admitted  two 
policemen,  "  I  charge  the  Honorable  Thomas  Cranley  with 
murder!" 

The  officers  lifted  the  fallen  man. 

"  Let  him  be,"  said  Barton.  "  He  has  collapsed.  Lay  him  on 
the  floor:  he's  better  so.  He  needs  a  turn  of  my  profe»siaa:  his 
heart's  weak.  Bring  some  brandy." 

Young  Wright  went  for  the  spirits,  while  the  frightextad  old 
lawyer  kept  murmuring: 

"  The  Honorable  Thomas  Cranley  was  always  very  uaaasiafao- 
lory!" 

It  had  been  explained  to  the  old  gentleman  that  an  amposfcor 
would  be  unmasked,  and  a  criminal  arrested;  but  he  had  not 
been  informed  that  the  culprit  was  the  son  of  bis  great;  client, 
Lord  Birkenhead. 

Barton  picked  up  the  cigarette- case,  and  as  he,  for  tho  firs* 
time,  examined  its  interior,  acme  broken  glass  fell  o'-Ju  and 
fcrofctecl  e&  the  flow, 


THE    MARK    OF    CAIN,  107 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE  VERDICT  OF   FATE. 

MA.nTA5D  did  not  dally  long  in  the  Levant  after  getting  Bar- 
. ton's  letter.  He  was  soon  in  a  position  to  receive,- in  turn,  the 
congratulations  which  he  offered  to  Margaret  and  Barton  witk 
un  affected  delight. 

Mrs.  St.  John  Deloraine  and  he  understood  each  other! 

Maitland,  for  erhaps  the  first  time  in  his  life,  was  happy  in  a 
thoroughly  human  old-fashioned  way. 

Meanwhile  the  preparations  for  Cranley's  trial  dragged  on. 
IntereBt,  as  usual,  was  fritted  away  in  examinations  before  tha 
magistrate?. 

But  at  last  the  day  of  judgment  shone  into  a  court  crowded  aa 
courts  are  when  it  is  the  agony  of  a  gentleman  that  the  public 
has  to  view. 

When  the  prisoner,  uttering  his  last  and  latest  falsehood,  pro 
claimed  himself  "Not  Guilty,''  his  voice  was  clear  and  strong 
enough.,  though  the  pallor  of  his  face  attested,  not  only  the  anx 
iety  of  hie  situation,  but  the  ill-health  which,  during  his  confine 
ment,  had  often  made  it  doubtful  whether  he  could  survive  to 
plead  at  the  bar  of  any  earthly  judgment. 

The  counsel  for  the  crown,  opening  the  case,  stated  the  theory 
of  the  prosecution,  the  case  against  Cranley.  His  argument  C* 
here  offered  in  a  condensed  form: 

FirBt,  counsel  explained  the  position  of  Johnson,  or  Shields, 
as  the  unconscious  heir  of  great  wealth,  and  set  forth  his  early 
and  late  relations  with  the  prisoner,  a  dishonored  and  unscrupu. 
lous  outcast  of  society.  The  prisoner  had  been  intimately  ac 
quainted  with  the  circumstances  of  Johnson's  early  life,  with 
his  history  and  his  home.  His  plan,  therefore,  was  to  kill  him, 
and  then  personate  him.  A  celebrated  case,  which  would  be 
present  to  the  minds  of  the  jury,  proved  that  a  most  plausible 
attempt  at  the  personation  of  a  long-missing  man  might  be 
made  by  an  uneducated  impostor,  who  possessed  none  of  the 
minute  local  and  personal  knowledge  of  the  prisoner.  Now,  to 
pen-senate  Johnson,  a  sailor  whose  body  was  known  to  have  been 
inde  ibly  marked  by  the  tattooing  of  various  barbarous  races,  ifc 
.  was  necessary  that  the  prisoner  should  be  similarly  tattooed. 
\  It  would  be  shown  that,  with  unusual  heartlessness,  he  had  per 
suaded  his  victim  to  reproduce  on  his  body  the  distinctive 
marks  of  Johnson,  and  then  had  destroyed  him  with  fiendish 
ingers  aity,  in  the  very  act  of  assuming  his  personality. 

The  very  instrument,  it  might  be  said,  which  stamped .Cranley 
as  Jchnaon,  slew  Johnson  himself,  and  the  process  which  hall- 
marked  the  prisoner  as  the  heir  of  vast  wealth  stigmatized  him 
•with  the  brand  of  Cain.  The  personal  marks  which  seemed  to 
e&t&blipli  the  claimant's  case  demonstrated  his  guilt.  He  waj 
€krf«tf.ed  by  the  medical  expert  brought  in  to  prove  his  identity, 
«Kid  was  recognized  by  that  gentleman,  Dr.  Barton,  who  would 
•  and  who  had  on*)  already  exposed  him  in  a  grav» 


i?#  THE  STARS:-  or  CAW. 

social  oftense — cheating  at  cards,    "nie  same  witness  fca<I 

&  post-mortem  examination  of  the  body  of  Richard  Johnson,  ami 

had  then  suspected  the  method  by  which  he  had  been  murdered. 

The  murder  itself,  according  to  the  theory  of  the  prosecution, 
TCRS  committed  in  the  following  manner:  Cranley  disguised  as  a 
sailor  (the  disguise  in  which  he  was  finally  taken),  had  been  in 
the  habit  of  meeting  Johnson,  and  being  tattooed  by  him,  in  a 
private  room  of  the  Hit  or  Miss  tavern,  in  Chelsea.  On  the  nig  hi 
of  February  the  7th,  he  met  him  there  for  the  last  time.  He  left 
the  tavern  late,  at  nearly  twelve  o'clock,  telling  the  landlady 
tl tat  "  his  friend,"  as  he  called  Johnson,  had  fallen  asleep  up 
stairs.  On  closing  the  establishment,  the  landlady,  Mrs.  Gullick, 
found  the  room,  an  upper  one,  with  dormer  windows,  openiiig 
on  the  roof ,  empty.  She  concluded  that  Johnson— or  Shi^-'b", 
as  she  called  him — had  wakened,  and  left  the  house  by  the  brick 
staircase,  which  led  to  a  side-alley.  This  way  Johnson,  who 
knew  the  house  well,  often  took  on  leaving, 

On  the  following  afternoon,  however,  the  dead  body  of  John 
son,  with  no  obvious  marks  of  violence  on  it,  was  found  in  a  cars 
belonging  to  the  vestry — a  cart  which,  during  the  night,  had 
remained  near  a  shed  on  the  piece  of  waste  ground  adjoining 
the  Hit  or  Miss.  A  coroner's  jury  had  taken  the  view  that 
Johnson,  being  intoxicated,  had  strayed  into  the  piece  of  waste 
ground  (it  would  be  proved  that  the  door  in  the  palisade  sur 
rounding  it  was  open  on  that  night),  had  lain  down  in  the  cart, 
and  died  in  his  sleep  of  cold  and  exposure.  But  evidence  derived 
from  a  Jater  medical  examination  would  establish  the  presump. 
tion,  which  would  be  confirmed  by  the  testimony  of  an  eye-wit 
ness,  that  death  had  been  willfully  caused  by  Cranley,  employing 
a  poison  which  it  would  be  shown  he  had  in  his  possession— a 
poison  which  was  not  swallowed  by  the  victim,  but  introduced 
by  means  of  a  puncture  into  the  system.  The  dead  man's  body 
had  then  been  removed  to  a  place  where  his  decease  would  be 
accounted  for  as  the  result  of  cold  and  exhaustion.  A  witness 
would  be  put  in  the  box  who,  by  an  extraordinary  circum 
stance,  had  been  enabled  to  see  the  crime  committed  by  the 
prisoner,  and  the  body  carried  away,  though,  at  the  moment, 
he  did  not  understand  the  meaning  of  what  he  saw.  As  the  cir 
cumstances  by  which  this  witness  ha'd  been  enabled  to  behoM 
what  was  done  at  dead  of  night,  in  an  attic  room,  locked  .-i  ri 
bolted,  and  not  commanded  from  any  neighboring  hor.se  no* 
eminence,  were  exceedingly  peculiar,  testimony  would  be  brc 
to  show  that  the  witness  really  had  enjoyed  the  opportunity" of  , 
cl  •< Tvation  which  he  claimed. 

On  the  whole,  then,  as  the  prisoner  had  undeniably  persona-ted  ' 
J  'linson,  and  claimed  Johnson's  property;  as  he  undeniably  lirni 
induced  Johnson,  unconsciously,  to  aid  him  in  the  task  of  per- 
K^nation;  as  the  motive  for  the  murder  was  plain  and  obvious; 
».9  Jobnson,  according  to  the  medical  evidence,  had  probab'f 
been  murdered;  and  as  an  eye-witness  professed  to  have  se>a, 
without  comprehending,  the* operation  by  which  death,  accord 
ing  to  the  medical  theory,  was  caused,  the  counsel  for  the  prose 
cution,  believed  that  the  jury  could  find  no  other  verdict  tij.aa 


THE    MARK    OF    CAIN.  109 

that  the  prisoner  had  willfully  murdered  Richard  Johnson  on 
the  night  of  February  7th. 

This  opened  the  case  for  the  crown.  It  is  unnecessary  to  re 
capitulate  the  evidence  of  all  the  witnesses  who  proved,  step  by 
step,  the  statements  of  the  prosecution.  First  was  demonstrated 
the  identity  of  Shields  with  Johnson.  To  do  this  cost  enormous 
le  and  expense;  but  Johnson's  old  crony,  the  man  who 
drew  the  chart  of  his  tattoo  marks,  was  at  length  discovered  in 
Paraguay,  and,  by  his  aid  and  the  testimony  he  collected,  the 
point  was  satisfactorily  made  out.  It  was,  of  course,  most  im- 
jx -ri,r,jjt  in  another  respect,  as  establishing  Margaret's  claims  on 
the  Linkheaton  estate. 

The  discovery  of  the  body  of  Johnson  (or  Shields)  in  the  snow 
was  proved  by  our  old  friends  Bill  and  Tommy. 

The  prisoner  was  recognized  by  Mrs.  Gullick  as  the  sailor  gen 
tleman  who  had  been  with  Johnson  on  the  last  night  of  his  life. 
In  frpite  of  the  difference  of  dress,  and  of  appearance  caused  by 
the  absence  of  beard — for  Cranley  was  now  clean  shaved — Mrs. 
Gullick  was  positive  as  to  his  voice  and  as  to  his  eyebrows,  which 
were  peculiarly  black  and  mobile. 

Barton,  who  was  called  next,  and  whose  evidence  excited  the 
keenest  interest,  identified  the  prisoner  as  the  man  whom  he  had 
caused  to  be  arrested  in  the  office  of  Messrs.  Martin  &  Wright, 
an '  1  whom  he  had  known  as  Cranley.  His  medical  evidence  was 
given  at  considerable  length,  and  need  not  be  produced  in  ful? 
det£."j].  On  examining  the  body  of  Richard  Johnson,  his  atten 
tion  Lad  naturally  been  directed  chiefly  to  the  tattooings.  H(* 
had  for  some  years  been  deeply  interested,  as  an  ethnologist,  in 
the  tattooed  marks  of  various  races.  He  had  found  many  curi 
ous  examples  on  the  body  of  the  dead  man. 

Most  of  the  marks  were  obviously  old;  but  in  a  very  unusual 
place,  generally  left  blank — namely,  behind  and  under  the  right 
shciil'.ler — he  had  discovered  certain  markings  of  an  irregular 
character,  clearly  produced  by  an  inexperienced  hand,  and  per 
fectly  fresh  and  recent.  They  had  not  healed,  and  were  slightly 
discolored.  They  could  not,  from  their  position,  possibly  have 
been  produced  by  the  man  himself.  Microscopic  examinations 
of  these  marks,  in  which  the  coloring  matter  was  brown,  not  red 
or  'blue,  as  on  the  rest  of  the  body,  showed  that  this  coloring 
matter  was  of  a  character  familiar  to  the  witness  as  a  physi- 
clogist  and  scientific  traveler.  It  was  the  Woorali,  or  arrow 
poison  of  the  Macoushi  Indians  of  Guiana. 

Asked  to  explain  the  nature  of  this  poison  to  the  court,  the 
witness  said  that  its  "  principle  "  (to  use  the  term  of  the  old 
medical  writers)  had  not  yet  been  disengaged  by  science  nor  had 
it  ever  been  compounded  by  Europeans.  He  had  seen  it  made 
by  the  Macoushi  Indians,  who  combined  the  juice  of  the  "Woorali 
vine  with  that  of  certain  bulbous  plants,  with  certain  insects, 
and  with  the  poison-fangs  of  two  serpents,  boiling  the  whole 
amid  tit  magical  ceremonies,  and  finally  straining  off  a  thick 
brown  paste,  which,  when  perfectly  dry,  was  used  to  venom  the 
points  of  their  arrows.  The  poison  might  be  swallowed  by  a 
liealthy  man  without  fatal  results,  -  But  if  introduced  into  the 


THE    MARK    OF    CAIN. 

through  a  wound,  the  poison  would  act  almost  install <• 
taneously,  ap.d  defy  analysis.  Its  effect  was  to  sever,  as  it  were, 
the  connection  between  the  nerves  and  the  muscles,  and  the 
muscles  used  in  respiration  being  thus  gradually  paralyzed,  death 
followed  within  a  brief  time,  proportionate  to  the  size  of  the 
victim,  man  or  animal,  and  the  strength  of  the  dose. 

Traces,  of  this  poison,  then,  the  witness  had  found  hi  the  fresh 
tattoo  marks  on  Johnson's  body. 

The  witness  now  produced  the  sharp  wooden  needle,  the  stem 
of  the  leaf  of  the  coucourite  palm,  which  he  had  found  among 
Johnson's  tattooing  materials,  in  the  upper  chamber  of  the  Hit 
or  Miss.  This  needle  had  been,  he  said,  the  tip  of  one  of  the 
arrows  used  for  their  blow-pipes,  by  the  Macoushi  of  Guiana. 

Barton  also  produce  the  oriental  silver  cigarette-case,  the  in» 
fetrtiment  of  his  cheating  at  baccarat,  which  Cranley  had  left  in 
the  ckib  on  the  evening  of  his  detection.  He  showed  that  th» 
case  had  contained  a  small  crystal  receptacle,  intended  to  hold 
opium.  This  crystal  had  been  broken  by  Cranley  when  run 
dashed  down  the  case,  in  the  office  of  Martin  &  Wright.  Bui 
crumbs  of  the  poison — "  Woorali,"  or  "  Ourali " — perfectly  drj-^ 
remained  in  this  receptacle.  It  was  thus  clear  that  Cranley,, 
}iim&63f  a  great  traveler,  was  possessed  of  the  rare  and  perilois* 
drug. 

The  medical  evidence  having  been  heard*  and  confirmed  m 
its  general  bearing  by  various  experts,  and  Barton  having 
stood  the  test  of  a  severe  cross-examination,  William  Winter 
wap  called. 

There  was  a  flutter  in  the  court,  as  a  pale  and  partly  paralyzed 
man  was  borne  in  on  a  kind  of  litter,  and  accommodated  in  tha 
witness-box. 

"Where  were  you,"  asked  the  counsel  for  the  prosecution,, 
•when  the  officer  had  sworn  the  witness,  ".at  eleven  o'clock  on 
the  night  of  February  7th  ?" 

*'  3  was  on  the  roof  of  the  Hit  or  Miss  tavern." 

"  Oa  which  part  of  the  roof?" 

"  On  the  ledge  below  the  dormer  window  at  the  back  part  of 
the  J)oi2se,  facing  the  waste  ground  behind  the  plank  fence." 

"  Wi31  you  tell  the  court  what  you  saw  while  you  were  in  that 
posit  Jon?*' 

"Winter's  face  was  flushed  with  excitement;  but  his  voice, 
though  thin,  was  clear  as  he  said: 

"  There  was  a  light  streaming  through  the  dormer  window  be- 
side  which  I  was  lying,  and  I  looked  in." 

••'  What  did  you  see?" 

"  I  saw  a  small  room,  with  a  large  fire,  a  table,  on  wh&ft 
were  bottles  and  glasses,  and  two  men,  one  seated,  the  rthor 
itandlng." 

W  ould  you  recognize  either  man  if  yon  saw  him  ?" 

"  J  recognize  the  man  who  was  seated,  in  the  prisoner  at  th* 
bar;  bat  at  that  time  he  wore  a  beard." 

"••  Toll  the  court  what  happened." 

"  The  men  were  facing  me.    One  of  them— the  prisoner— wa* 
to  the  waist.    His  breast  was  tattooed.    The  other— the 


THE    MARK    OF   CAIN.  lit 

man  who  stood  up — was  touching  him  with  a  needle,  which  h% 
applied,  again  and  again,  to  a  saucer  on  the  table." 
"  Could  you  hear  what  they  said?1' 

"  I  could;  for  the  catch  of  the  lattice  window  had  not  caught, 
and  there  was  a  slight  chink  open." 
»      •'  You  listened  ?" 

"  I  could  not  help  it;  the  scene  was  so  strange.     I  heard  th« 

*  man  with  the  needle  give  a  sigh  of  relief,  and  say,  «  Thee?,  it's 

j  finished,  and  a  pretty  job  too,  though  I  say  it.'    The  other  said, 

\  'You  have  done  it  beautifully,  Dicky;  it's  a  most  interesting 

)  art.    Now,  just  out  of  curiosity,  let  me  tattoo  you  a  bit.*    The 

|  other  man  laughed,  and  took  off  his  coat  and  shirt  while  the 

\  other  dressed.     *  There's  scarce  an  inch  of  me  plain,*  he  said, 

*  but  you  can  try  your  hand  here/  pointing  to  the  lower  part  of 

his  shoulder." 

"  What  happened  then?" 

"  They  were  both  standing  up  now.  I  saw  the  prisoner  tak» 
out  something  sharp;  his  face  was  deadly  pale,  but  the  other 
could  not  see  that.  He  began  touching  him  with  the  sharp  ob 
ject,  and  kept  chaffing  all  the  time.  This  lasted.  I  should  think, 
about  five  minutes,  when  the  face  of  the  man  who  was  being 
tattooed  grew  very  red.  Then  he  swayed  a  little,  backward  and 
forward,  then  he  stretched  out  his  hands  like  a  blind  man,  and 
said,  in  a  strange,  thick  voice,  as  if  he  was  paralyzed,  *  I'm  very 
cold;'  I  can't  shiver!'  Then  he  fell  down  heavily,  and  hid  body 
made  one  or  two  convulsive  movements.  That  was  all. 
"  What  did  the  prisoner  do?" 

"He  looked  like  death.  He  seized  the  bottle  on  the  table, 
poured  out  half  a  tumbler-full  of  the  stuff  in  it,  drank  it  off,  and 
then  fell  into  a  chair,  and  laid  his  face  between  his  hands,.  He 
appeared  ill,  or  alarmed,  but  the  color  came  back  into  his  cheek 
after  a  third  or  fourth  glass.  Then  I  saw  him  go  to  the  sleeping 
man  and  bend  over  him,  listening  apparently  to  his  breathing. 
Then  he  shook  him  several  times,  as  if  trying  to  arouse  him. 
;  But  the  man  lay  like  a  log.  Finally,  about  half-an-hour  after 
what  I  have  described,  he  opened  the  door  and  went  out. 
He  soon  returned,  took  up  the  sleeping  man  in  his  arm* — his 
weight  seemed  lighter  than  you  would  expect — and  carried  him 
out.  From  the  roof  I  saw  him  pass  the  door  in  the  po&jado 
leading  into  the  waste  land,  a  door  which  I  myself  had  Isf t  open 
an  hour  before.  It  was  not  light  enough  to  see  what  he  did 
there;  but  he  soon  returned  alone  and  walked  away." 

Such  was  the  sum  of  Winter's  evidence,  which,  if  aocaofead, 
entirely  corroborated  Barton's  theory  of  the  manner  of  tha 
murder. 

In  cross-examination,  Winter  was  asked  the  Tery  natural 
question: 

"  How  did  you  come  to  find  yourself  on  the  roof  of  tha  Hit  or 
Miss  late  at  night  ?" 
Winter  nearly  rose  from  his  litter,  his  worn  face  flushed,  bis 


JtS  TEE    MARK    OF    CAIN. 

There  was  a  murmur  and  tiiter  through  the  court,  whie!i 
of  course,  instantly  suppressed. 

"  You  flew  /    What  do  you  mean  by  saying  that  you  flew?" 

•"  I  am  the  inventor  of  a  flying  machine,  which,  for  thirty 
years,  I  have  labored  at  and  striven  to  bring  to  perfection.  Ufc. 
that  one  night,  as  I  was  experimenting  with  it,  where  I  usually 
did,  inside  the  waste  land  bordering  on  the  Hit  or  Miss,  the  ma 
chine  actually  worked,  and  I  was  projected  in  tlie  machine,  as 
it  were,  to  some  height  in  the  air,  coining  down  with  a  flutter 
ing  motion,  like  a  falling  feather,  on  the  roof  of  the  Hit.  or 
Miss."  .  >• 

Hero  the  learned  counsel  for  the  defense  smiled  with  infinite 
expression  at  the  jury, 

"  My  lord,"  said  the  counsel  for  the  prosecution,  noting  the 
smile,  and  the  significant  grin  with  which  it  wos  reflected  on 
the  countenances  of  the  twelve  good  men  and  true,  "  I  may 
state  that  we  are  prepared  to  bring  forward  a  large  mass  of  sci 
entific  evidence — including  a  well-known  man  of  science,  the 
editor  of  Wisdom,  a  popular  journal  which  takes  all  knowledge 
for  its  province— to  prove  that  there  is  nothing  physically  impos 
sible  in  the  facts  deposed  to  by  this  witness.  He  is  at  present 
suffering,  as  you  see,  from  a  serious  accident,  caused  by  the  very- 
machine  of  which  he  speaks,  and  which  can  be  exhibited,  with  a 
working  model,  to  the  court. :> 

"It  certainly  requires  corroboration,"  said  the  judge,  "At 
present,  so  far  as  I  am  aware,  it  is  contrary  to  scientific  experi 
ence.  You  can  prove,  perhaps,  that,  in  the  opinion  of  experts, 
these  machines  have  only  to  take  one  step  further  to  become 
practical  modes  of  locomotion.  But  that  is  the  very  step  qui 
coate.  Nothing  but  direct  evidence  that  the  step  has  been  taken 
— that  a  flying  machine,  on  this  occasion,  actually  flew  (they  ap 
pear  to  be  styled  I'olantcs,  a  non  volando)— would  really  lielp 
your  case,  and  establish  the  credibility  of  this  witness." 

"  With  your  lordship's  learned  remarks,''  replied  the  counsel 
for  the  crown,  "  I  am  not  the  less  ready  to  agree,  because  I  have 
an  actual  eye-witness,  who  not  only  saw  the  flight  deposed  to  by 
the  witness,  but  reported  it  to  several  persons,  who  are  in  court, 
on  the  night  of  its  occurrence,  so  that  her  statement,  though  dis 
believed,  was  the  common  talk  of  the  neighborhood. 

"  Ah!  that  is  another  matter J*  said  the  judge. 

- '  Call  Eliza  Gullick/'  said  theeounsel. 

Eliza  was  called,  and  in  a  moment  was  courtesyicg.  with 
eagerness,  but  perfect  self-possession. 

After  displaying  an  almost  technical  appreciation  of  the  nature 
of  an  oath,  Eliza  was  asked: 

"  You  remember  the  night  of  the  7th  of  February  T 

'"  I  remember  it  very  well,  sir." 

"  Why  do  you  remember  it  so  well,  Eliza?" 
Becos  such  a  mort  o*  things  happened,  sir,  that  night- w 


'•  Will  you  tell  his  lordship  what  happened  'f\ 
"  Certainly,  my  lord.     Mr.  T 


Toopny  gave  us  a  supper,  us  lumps, 
my  lord,  at  the  Hilarity;  for  he  sjud " 


THE  MARK  OF  CAIN  113 

"Never  mind  what  he  said,  tell  us  what  happened  as  you 
coming  home." 

"Well,  sir,  it  was  about  eleven  o'clock  at  night,  and  I  was 
turning  the  lane  into  the  Hit  or  Miss,  when  I  heard  an  awful 
flapping  and  hissing  and  whirring,  like  wings  working  by 
steam,  in  the  waste  ground  at  the  side  of  the  lane.  And  as  I 
was  listening — oh,  it  frightens  me  now  to  think  of  it — oh,  sir 

;> 

"Well,  don't  be  alarmed,  my  good  child!  What  occurred?" 

"A  great  thing  like  a  bird,  sir,  bigger  than  a  man,  flew  up 
over  my  head,  higher  than  the  houses.  And  then — did  you 
ever  see  them  Japanese  toys,  my  lord,  them  things  with  two 
feathers  and  a  bit  of  India-rubber  as  you  twist  round  and 
round  and  toss  them  up  and  they  fly " 

"Well,  my  girl,  I  have  seen  them." 

"Well,  just  as  if  it  had  been  one  of  them  things  settling: 
down,  the  bird's  wings  turned  round  and  fluttered  and  shook» 
and  at  last  it  all  lighted,  quite  soft  like,  on  the  roof  of  our 
fcouse",  the  Hit  or  Miss.  And  there  I  saw  it  crouching  when 
I  went  to  bed,  and  looked  out  o'  the  window,  but  they  would 
n't  none  o'  them  believe  me,  my  lord." 

There  was  a  dead  silence  in  the  court  as  Eliza  finished  this 
extraordinary  confirmation  of  Winter's  evidence,  and  wove  the 
net  inextricably  round  the  prisoner. 

Then  the  silence  wsa  broken  by  a  soft  crashing  sound,  as  if 
iBomething  heavy  had  dropped  a  short  distance  on  some  hard 
object.  All  present  turned  their  eyes  from  staring  at  Eliza 
fto  the  place  whence  the  sound  had  come.  The  prisoner's  head 
•had  fallen  forward  on  the  railing  in  front  of  him.  One  of  the 
officers  of  the  court  touched  him  on  the  shoulder.  He  did  not 
stir.  They  lifted  him.  He  moved  not.  The  faint  heart  of  the 
man  had  fluttered  with  its  last  pulsation.  The  evidence  had 
sufficed  for  him  without  verdict  or  sentence.  As  he  had  slain 
his  victim,  so  Fate  slew  him,  painlessly,  in  a  moment! 

EPILOGUE 

And  what  became  of  them  all  ? 

He  who  does  not  tell,  on  the  plea  that  he  is  "competing  with 
Life,"  which  never  knits  up  a  plot,  but  leaves  all  the  threads 
loose,  acts  unfairly. 

Mrs.  St.  John  Deloraine  is  now  Mrs.  Maitland,  and  the 
liappy  couple  are  visiting  the  great  colonies,  seeking  a  site  for 
a  new  settlement  of  the  unemployed,  who  should  lead  happy 
lives  under  the  peaceful  sway  of  happy  Mrs.  Maitland. 

Barton  and  Mrs.  Barton  have  practiced  the  endowment  of  re 
search,  in  the  case  of  Winter,  who  has  quite  recovered  from  Ms 
injuries,  and  still  hopes  to  fly.  But  he  has-  never  trusted  him 
self  again  on  his  machine,  which,  moreover,  has  never  flown 
again.  Winter,  like  the  alchemist  who  once  made  a  diamond 
fcy  chance,  in  Balzac's  novel,  has  never  recovered  the 


m  THE    MARK    OF    CAIN. 

moment.  But  he  makes  very  interesting  models,  in  which  Mrs. 
Jfortcm's  little  boy  begins  to  take  a  lively  inters^,. 

Eliza  Gullick,  declining  all  offers  of  advancement  unconnected 
with  the  British  drama,  clmg»  10  the  profession  for  which,  aa 
Mrs.  Guilick  maintains,  she  has  a  hereditary  genius. 

**  We  hear."  says  the  Athenaeum,  "that  the  long  promised 
edition  of  "  Demetrius  of  Scepsis,"  by  Mr.  Bielby,  of  St.  Gatien's, 
i*  in  the  hands  of  the  delegates  of  the  Clarendon  Press." 

Bast  Fiction  herself  is  revolted  by  the  improbability  of  the 
'  that  an  Oxford  don  has  finished  his  magnum  opus  / 


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B— The    Mistress    of    Court    of    Regna,    Charles 

Garvice. 

7 — Claire,    Charles   Garvice. 
3 — A  Coronet  of  Shame,  Charles  Garvice. 
9 — Love  of  A  Life  Time,  Charles  Garvice. 
B — His   Perfect  Trust,    Charles    Garvice. 
I — Her   Love   So   True,    Charles   Garvice. 
2 — A   Bridge   of   Love,    Between   Two    Lives, 

Bertha   M.    Clay. 

) — A  Golden  Dawn,  Bertha  M.   Clay. 
1 — Her  Second  Love,  Bertha  M.  Clay. 
» — A  Squire's  Darling,   Bertha  M.   Clay. 
5 — The   Shadow  of  A  Sin,   Bertha  M.   Clay. 
7— The   Shattered   Idol,    Bertha   M.    Clay. 
3 — Wedded  and  Parted,   Bertha   M.   Clay. 
J — A  Queen  Among  Women,  Bertha  M.  Clay. 
)— Jennie,    Bertha    M.    Clay. 
I — Lady    Diana's    Pride,    Charlotte    M.    Braeme. 
! — Catherine's  Flirtations,  Charlotte  M    Braeme. 
I— A     Broken     Wedding     Ring,     Charlotte     M. 

Braeme. 

I — Sir  Arthur's   Heiress,   Charlotte  M.    Braeme. 
>— At  War   With   Herself,    Bertha   M.    Clay. 
J — Wife   In  Name   Only,   Charlotte  M.    Braeme. 
t — Her  Faithful  Heart,  Charlotte  M.  Braeme. 
I — Her   Only   Sin,    Charlotte   M.   Braeme. 
»— Shadow  of  the  Past,  Bertha  M.  Clay. 
» — Heiress  of  Hilldrop,  Bertha  M.   Clay. 
I — She  Trusted  Him,  Charles  Garvice. 
J — Leslie's  Peril,   Charles  Garvice. 
I — Love's   Surrender,   Charlotte   M.   Braeme. 
I — Woman   Against  Woman,  Mrs.  M.  E.  Holmes. 
5 — Elaine,    Charles   Garvice. 
i — Thrown  On  The  World,   Bertha  M.  Clay 
r— Look    Before   You   Leap,    Mrs.   Alexander! 
* — Hemlock's    Swamp,    Elsie    Whittlesey. 
) — The   Price   Of   Honor,   Charles   Garvice. 
) — Jesse,   Charlotte   M.    Braeme. 
— A  Crown  of  Shame,  Florence  Marryatt. 
— At  The  World's  Mercy,  Florence  Warden. 
— A  Thorn  In  Her  Heart,   Bertha  M.   Clay. 
— The   House  of  The   Seven  Gables,   Nathaniel 

Hawthorne. 

• — Her  Humble  Lover,  Charles  Garvice. 
I— A  Maiden  All  Forlorn,  The  Duchess 
' — A  Woman's  Temptation,   Bertha  M.   Clay. 
<— By  The  Gates  of  the  Sea,  David  C.  Murray. 


49 — A  Golden  Heart,   Charlotte  M.  Braeme. 
50— The  Lost  Heiress,   H.   W.   Taylor. 
61 — The    Duchess,    The    Duchess. 
52 — The    Haunted    Chamber,    The    Duchess. 
63 — Her  Last  Throw,  The  Duchess. 
54 — Lady  Valworth's  Diamonds,  The  Duches 
55 — A  Life's  Remorse,  The  Duchess. 
66 — A   little   Irish   Girl,   The   Duchess. 
57 — A  Little  Rebel,   The  Duchess. 
58 — A  Troublesome  Girl,  The  Duchess. 
59 — Mildred  Trevanian,  The  Duchess. 
60 — Mrs.  Vereker's  Courier  Main,  The  Duel 
61 — A   Born   Coquette,   The  Duchess. 
62 — Her  Hearts   Desire,   Charles   Garvice. 
63— By  Woman's  Wit,   Mrs.   Alexander. 
64 — Maid,   Wife  or  Widow,    Mrs.   Alexander.] 
65 — A   False    Scent,    Mrs.    Alexander. 
66 — Beaton's  Bargain,   Mrs.  Alexander. 
67— Blind  Fate,   Mrs.   Alexander. 
68 — Forging  the  Fetters,   Mrs.  Alexander. 
69 — Doris'   Fortune,  F.  Warden. 
70 — Fair  Women,   Mrs.   Forrester. 
71 — The  Wedding  Ring,   Robt.  Buchanan. 
72 — Lord  Lisle's  Daughter,   Charlotte  Bra 
73 — Bonnie   Doon,   Charlotte   Braeme. 
74 — A  Passionate  Love,  Charlotte  Braeme. 
75 — Guelda,   Charlotte  Braeme. 
76 — If  Love  Be  Love,  Charlotte  Braeme. 
77 — Queen    Tempest,    Mrs.    Jane    G.    Austin.  I 
78 — This  Wicked  World,   H.   Lovett  Cameroj 
79 — Helen  Ethinger,   Elsie  Leigh  Whittleseyl 
80 — Not  Exactly   Right,   Elsie   Leigh  Whittle! 
81— The  Child  Wife,  Adah  M.  Howard. 
82— Jenny  Harlowe,  W.  Clark  Russell. 
83 — The  Baffled  Conspirators,  W.   E.  Norrisi- 
84 — The   Evil   Genius,    Wilkie   Collins. 
85— A  Mere  Child,  L.   B.  Walford. 
86 — Love  for  A  Day,  Bertha  M.  Clay. 
87— A  Dead  Heart,  Bertha  M.  Clay. 
88 — His  Wife's  Judgement,   Bertha  M. 
89 — Like   No  Other  Love,   Pertha  M.   Clay." 
90 — Under  A  Shadow,   Ber'.ha   M.   Clay. 
91 — Dora   Deane,   Mary  J.   Holmes. 
92 — Homestead  on  The  Hillside,  Mary  J.  Ht 
93 — Meadowbrook,   Mary  J.   Holmes. 
94— Old    Hagar's    Secret,    Mary   ],   Holmes. 
96 — Lord  Vanecourt's  Daughter,   Mabel 
96 — Old   Lady   Mary,    Mrs.    Oliphant. 
97— A  Lucky   Young  Woman,   Mrs.    Philli 
98 — A   Little    Countess,    O.    Fenillet 
99 — Averill,    Rosa    Nouchette    Carey. 
100— Flower  ft  Jewel,   Mrs.   Alexander  Mel 
Miller. 


he  All  Star  Series  books  are  for  sale  everywhere,  or  they  will  be  sent  by 
postage  paid,  for  15c  a  copy,  by  the  publisher:  7  copies  for  $1.00. 
Postage  stamps  taken  the  same  as  money. 

HE  ARTHUR  WESTBROOK  CO.  CLEVELAND,  O.,  U.  S. 


